Upon Your Return - Chapter 1 by Marie Lavender
September 11, 2013 by Adam
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
Marguerite 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.”
“Mademoiselle--”
“Do it.”
He complied,
parking where she'd told him. He stepped down and then helped her to step down
as well, and offered her his arm. “I will escort you.”
“No, Pierre.
Stay. I must go alone for this meeting.”
“But, Mademoiselle--”
“You heard
me.”
He frowned. “Monsieur
Bellamont will not be pleased if I do not accompany you.”
“I am aware.”
He nodded
grimly. “If anything happens…”
She lifted an
eyebrow in inquiry. “Alert my uncle at once.” Then she turned and proceeded to
find the right pier.
Pier one. Fara
passed it and shivered in her evening dress. The wind picked up. April was
always a chilly month. Fara felt the same eeriness at the docks as she had felt
going through town. Desolation crept inside her as she glanced about her.
Distantly, she heard the occasional shout of men working on the ships docked
there. She passed one now and then, moving crates while others held lanterns to
see. They looked worn and their clothes held the grime of days of soil and the
lack of bathing facilities. She wrinkled her nose. She caught their leering
glances, but sidestepped them well enough. Of all the places to meet, why had
Jean chosen here?
She had to
stay focused. When she reached pier two, she was not sure whether she should
walk the pier or wait at the entrance. She did know the ground was filthy and
her slippers were soiled. She sighed and hoped her fiancé would soon show. He
was a young man. Could he be naïve as well? Could he truly know nothing about
the peril surrounding the harbor and its inhabitants?
She still
envisioned his sad eyes, seeing the pain she'd inflicted when she could not
tell him what he wished to hear. She did not love him, but she could have
softened her admission with gentler words. At least she should have avoided
being so definite with her answer, or perhaps have offered him hope of the
possibility of love in their future. He might be more of a sensitive man. She
didn't know him at all. What was her uncle thinking, suiting her up with a man
she barely knew? And how well did he even know Monsieur Le Croíx?
Fara shifted
uncomfortably on her feet. Her stomach churned. She'd been waiting awhile for
him. It seemed at least ten minutes had passed since she'd been left at the
entrance to the docks. Surely Jean Le Croíx would not desert her, leave her
alone in this place?
But then, he
might be capable of anything. What if he'd asked her to come and then decided
against going himself? No, he was not like that. She was being silly. But how
could she be sure? The man had only visited the house three times before the
announcement of their betrothal. And she'd had no idea she was supposed to
marry the man at the time. She simply thought she was entertaining one of her
uncle's acquaintances. The times she'd spent with him were hardly enough to
discern any kind of opinion about him.
Jean Le Croíx,
son of two deceased parents, survived on his father's estate. René Le Croíx,
Jean's late father, had been a successful merchant. Jean would know his way
around the harbor, considering his father's profession. But these were just
details. They said nothing about the character of the man her fiancé was. Of
that, she knew nothing.
Why in God's
name would Jean Le Croíx ask to meet her here of all places? She had heard
tales about what happened to good people who dared set foot around the harbor
at night. Theft, rape, death. This was a very bad idea. Surely Monsieur
Le Croíx knew the dangers. What if he was a rascal indeed? What if he'd meant
for her to be alone at the pier?
A shiver
slowly crept up her spine. It wasn't the implications of that thought which
plagued her. It was the feel of something or someone close by. Were those
footsteps she heard behind her or on another pier?
“Jean? Is that
you?” She tried to slow her breathing, which came in rapid pants. “Jean?” She
stiffened. “Jean Le Croíx, are you there? You'd better come out.” As she
turned, her elbow brushed something and she recoiled, falling against a wall. No,
not a wall. Terror ripped through her as she realized a pair of arms
enclosed around her.
“Lovely lady.
You're looking for someone, I presume? Well, Monsieur Le Croíx thought
you'd be better off in our hands.”
Our hands? She
tried to jerk away from him, but he was too strong. “Let me go, I-I demand it.”
Laughter
erupted nearby and a figure loomed before her. Another man appeared and licked
his lips lasciviously. “Oui, Monsieur Le Croíx believed us quite
capable once he dished out the finances required. We may have gotten a poor
bargain, Bernard. She could be worth far more.”
The man
grunted in agreement.
Mon Dieu,
she thought. Jean had hired them! For what exactly? To kill her? Her stomach
rolled as she imagined all the things they might do to her.
“Please, I'll
do anything. Not this…” She shook her head.
“The lady is
smart, Bernard. We must watch her.”
“Please.
My…m-my uncle,” she stammered.
“I'm terribly
sorry, chère. Your uncle has nothing to do with our pleasure.”
“But…” She
swallowed her fear. “Ransom…if you ask for a ransom, he'll give it to you. I
promise. Anything.”
“No doubt your
uncle is a wealthy man and you might fetch a fair price. But, what we're
looking for you cannot buy.” He laughed. “In most circumstances.”
No, they
couldn't buy it. But, they could take it. Her virginity. She could not fight
them if they tried. Anger heated her face and a red haze filled her vision. She
struggled harder. “Damn you! You'll pay for this!”
He laughed. “I
suppose so. But, what else can you do? There is an alternative now, a position
with dames de nuit…”
She clenched
her fist. Now she was likened to a prostitute? No, it would not be done. She
tried to play at her innocence. “Please…this can't be happening.”
“Oh, but it
is, my lovely lady. It won't be so bad--”
“No!” She
slammed the heel of her foot in her captor's shin and spun away.
“Bernard!”
called one of the men.
She heard
footsteps behind her and she turned, lashing out with her fingernails. She
gasped as she saw him howl in pain, lowering his head to reveal red claw marks
over the bridge of his nose. Then the man she'd first wounded came at her,
tackling her.
The impact
jarred her and she went down. “No!” Her escape was not to be.
She rolled to
the ground in a maze of skirts and a heavy thigh was thrown across her knees,
leaving her immobile. She squeezed her eyes tight. His touch on her face and
breasts was repulsive. Tears threatened to overcome her and they ran like
tracks into her hair. “Please,” she whispered.
“Ah,
gentlemen, what have we here?” An unfamiliar voice sounded and Fara lifted her
head weakly to see a new face, a different man. She wondered if he was an
ordinary spectator. He didn't look ordinary. He was big, intimidating but not
frighteningly so. There was something about him she wanted to trust. She
thought it might be his eyes, thought she detected a hint of concern as he
glanced at her briefly. But, of course, she might be wrong. She had been
before.
The man who
pinned her disengaged himself and got to his feet. He looked down at her
uneasily. “To your feet, chère,” he ordered.
She dizzily
stood in response and he clutched her to his side as if to claim her as his
possession.
The stranger
frowned. “She's quite a catch, gentlemen. Are you sure she's not off limits?”
The man at her
side stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“She appears
to be a lady.”
Hope sprang
from inside her. The man was no innocent bystander. He was a man with a
purpose, but deep down she knew he could not be with these rogues.
“And if she
is, Monsieur?”
“Then I would
be curious as to why a lady is here with the two of you.”
The one called
Bernard replied derisively, “Perhaps we are just too irresistible.”
The man
laughed. “Hardly.” He sighed as her captor chose to resume his place behind her
and blocked all attempts of escape with an arm across her chest. “Release her,
gentlemen. Let's settle this in a civilized manner, shall we?”
The man who
held her grunted. “Why don't you go about your business, Monsieur? A
simple matter like this shouldn't interest you.”
“A woman's
reputation may be at stake. Of course I'm interested.”
“We could
share her, Monsieur.”
His gaze swept
over her body and she shivered. Why, surely he would not take them
seriously...he couldn't take the offer. For God's sake, he was her only hope.
Tears streamed down her cheeks and she cursed herself for her maiden's
sensibilities. Where had her strength gone?
“You think I
would participate in something so lewd? You mistake my character, gentlemen.”
He pulled a rapier from its sheath. “The question is, what risks will you take?
Let me see...two men against one. Of course, if you still want to keep the
lady, it will take one of you to hold her. She looks fairly strong despite her
size...why look at that mark on your face. She has fought you. She could be
deadly, if given the chance. That makes one against one. Do you intend to fight
me for her obvious favors?”
“Take out the
girl, Bernard.”
The command
came too quickly and before she could struggle away, a fist slammed against her
jaw and she fell into blackness.
She lifted her
head sometime later, unsure of how long she'd been unconscious. Her vision
gradually returned, and the damp of the ground seeped through her dress. She
shuddered with the chill of air upon her body. She heard the scrape of a
footstep and a grunting sound above her. Still disoriented, Fara raised her
head to see the man who had come to her rescue fighting off the two rogues.
He fought them
with expert wrist and arm technique. He seemed to be in top physical shape as
compared to Jean Le Croíx, who was soft for his obvious youth. She grimaced.
Her wound caused her to be silly. So, he was attractive and strong...strong
enough to fight these men off and break her neck all in the same moment.
Then the man
thrust his rapier forward swiftly. When the one called Bernard, who had a white
scar down the side of his face pulled away, he revealed a small but bloody
wound on his arm. With a ragged breath, he looked at her rescuer as if weighing
the consequences of his decision. He then turned on his heel and his accomplice
soon followed him away from the docks.
Fara watched
their retreat with a deep sigh. Her rescuer pivoted on his heel and approached
her. He looked much larger than before. Trembling, she levered herself up on
one elbow and waited for him to speak.
He kneeled and
looked her over. “I guess they gave up the chase...”
Fara nodded,
swallowing hard. “Oui, Monsieur.” He touched her cheek and she felt the
warmth emanate from his hand. She was afraid, but she did not pull away from
his touch. She found it strangely protective, even affectionate. Though she
barely knew him, she wanted to believe he cared for her welfare. Her vision
clouded with tears as rich longing swept through her. To be cared for
completely, to be loved. But, he was a stranger. She could not forget that.
Distantly, she
knew that her physical state was far from normal at the moment.
“Are you all
right?”
She shook her head, feeling herself grow weaker by the
second. Nothing could keep her alert at that moment. “Monsieur...” she
murmured, falling into the inviting darkness.
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