December 1, 2013
posted by Adam Scull
Two weeks had
passed since Grant had recovered from his injury. Though he resumed his post as
escort, he seemed more distant sometimes as if there was much on his mind. Fara
had meant to convey to him that caring for him while he was unconscious had not
been an inconvenience, as he'd rushed to charge her with, but the opportunity
never presented itself. She would simply have to try harder.
Then the news
of the masque came. The governor was visiting town with his family and his daughters
had decided to throw a ball so that he could meet the townspeople, well at
least those who were prominent members of society. It would be held at the
governor's mansion in La Rochelle. His two young daughters, both of
marriageable age, 17 and 19, chose to make it a masque to add an air of mystery
to the event. Fara was still in mourning. It would be unnatural for a woman in
mourning to attend such an event.
With the help
of her scheming friend Helene, however, she planned to go. Helene aided her in
procuring a costume for the ball so she would not arouse suspicion. Fara
assumed that Grant would attend as well. She was reluctant to tell him that she
was going for two reasons. He would probably remind her of her duties while in
mourning, and she also wanted to surprise him if he was there. Despite the fact
that the guests were disguised, she hoped she'd still be able to spot him.
The evening of
the ball she stood in front of the mirror as she prepared to leave. She wore an
emerald gown with a matching glittery, feathered mask, which covered part of
her eyes and nose. Her flame-colored locks were piled atop her head in a
coronet with the other half falling like a cascade down her back. She wore
emerald slippers and toted a like colored bag. Donning a black shawl against
the cool of night, she went to join Rosalie and Helene downstairs.
Rosalie would
be acting as their chaperone tonight. She was dressed more conservatively than
the girls, wearing a simple gown of blue. Helene had chosen a pink gown and matching
mask for a striking contrast against her incredibly dark hair. Fara and Helene
giggled with excitement as they left the house and ascended into the carriage
directed by Pierre. She and her friend chatted in near whispers on the way to
the ball like cohorts plotting a crime.
When they
arrived at the mansion, they went inside and were welcomed by the Barrets, the
governor and his wife. An aide announced her name to them. Fara smiled as the
governor kissed both of her cheeks. “It is a pleasure to meet you too, Gouverneur
Barret.”
“The pleasure
is mine, Mademoiselle.” He then turned to greet Helene.
Once the
formalities were over, the ladies descended down a wide staircase into the
ballroom where couples were dancing. Around the edges of the room were chairs,
where people could rest. Some ate at small plates from the tidbits of food on
trays which were passed on by servants around the room. It really was
elaborately planned. Fara did not miss the decorations or the Turkish rugs, the
velvet curtains, which covered hidden alcoves where couples could escape from
the crowd.
Her stomach
tightened in anticipation. She wondered if she would run into Grant and if he
would recognize her at the same time she realized it was him. That was the
thing about masques. It was so easy to be mysterious, incognito. She shook her
preoccupation away and joined her companions to partake in the meal. They made
themselves comfortable in a group of chairs placed along the left side of the
ballroom.
When they were
done with their repast, Fara and Helene gossiped about the identities of the
guests. It was an honor to receive an invitation, especially from the governor.
But, no one had been left out. Most of the townspeople had been invited
including those for whom it would not have been socially required to attend,
those who were ill, had other circumstances which made it difficult to attend,
or those in mourning like Fara. She did not feel she should have been left out
of the festivities. There were not many such occasions in La Rochelle besides.
The ladies
spent the first two hours chatting casually and finally two men approached
them. Both were of medium stature and dressed in some kind of uniform. Their
masks concealed their identities so well it was hard for Fara to tell if she'd
seen them before.
“Bonjour,
Mesdemoiselles,” one man greeted, bowing slightly. “It would be my
pleasure to escort you. Would you perhaps join me in a waltz?” His gaze
flickered between the girls. His companion remained silent as if he would let
the man choose for him.
When the man
who spoke turned to Fara and held out his hand, her breath caught for a moment
as she wavered in decision. Well, it was not as if she owed anyone anything.
She was still unattached. Her betrothal to Monsieur Bordeaux would soon be
dissolved and she still had not seen Grant appear. It would not matter if she
enjoyed a dance with a stranger this once. That was the point of a masked ball.
“Thank you,” she replied, and took the arm he offered. Looking back, she saw
that Helene had taken the other man's offer to dance. She was on her own now.
The man carted
her to the floor, led her through the waltz, following each step, and did not
bother to converse with her at all. Just as he was about to lead her through a
turn, he guided her off of the floor, up a short climb of stairs, and into one
of the alcoves. He swept the curtain closed behind them and ushered her to a
balcony.
“Monsieur!”
she gasped for breath, winded not only from dancing but from his abrupt manner.
Her heart began to beat in a sick thud. What did he intend? “Monsieur,”
she began again, “what is the meaning of this?”
“I thought we
could enjoy a moment alone, away from the crowd.” Through his mask, she could
see a lascivious glint in his eyes as he looked her over. “Surely you cannot
deny a man what he wants?” He reached to drag her forward with a grip on her
arm.
She gasped, in
indignation this time. “I certainly can! I will deny you! How dare you treat me
like some trollop--”
“Quit your
whining,” he grated out before trying to crush his mouth against hers.
She fought him
with all she had, teeth, fingernails and as much strength as she could muster.
He reared back, swearing. His lip was cut where she'd bitten him and there was
an ugly red scratch on his neck where her nails had sunk in. “Leave me alone!”
She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth to rid herself of his taste.
“Bitch,” he
muttered. “You'll pay for that.”
“I would
listen to the lady if I were you.”
They both
swung to see another man dressed in a dinner coat and trousers with a phantom
mask over part of his face.
“What business
is it of yours?” the man who'd accosted her asked.
“That doesn't
matter. I demand that you now treat her like the lady she is. Apologize.”
A thrill
tingled down Fara's spine. She knew that voice. It was Grant. But if he wanted
to remain anonymous, she would play along.
The man beside
her shifted uneasily where he stood. “Or?”
“Or you may
not make it to the brothel I assume you attend regularly. Suffice it to say
you'll regret it, Monsieur. I may not even go to the trouble of
challenging you in a duel.”
He must have
seen the sincere threat in Grant's eyes as well as his rapier, which he always
carried at his side. The man turned to Fara. “I am sorry, Mademoiselle.
It will not happen again.” He did not wait for a response; he swept past both
her and Grant and was out of the alcove before they could stop him.
“Obviously
propriety is lost on him.”
She smiled. It
was so like him to make light of a bad situation. She remembered she still
hadn't acknowledged that he knew her. Perhaps he did not recognize her? “I
would like to thank you, Monsieur, for your intervention.”
“There is no
need. I did what any man would have done.”
“Not every man
would aid just any woman. I should not have accepted his offer to dance. Before
I had a chance to stop him, he dragged me in here. I should not have trusted
him.”
“Don't punish
yourself over it. But, it's true that some strangers can have ulterior
motives.”
“But, not
all?”
“No, I suppose
occasionally someone means well.”
“Would you fit
into that category? One that has no ulterior motives?”
“Perhaps when
I first came into the alcove…”
His eyes
beneath his mask seemed to bore into her very soul. In a way, she knew she was
toying with Grant, that he probably thought she didn't know it was him, and was
appalled that she would flirt with simply any man. What was he feeling? Her
heart raced in a strange, exhilarating way, and her breaths were more shallow.
If he did know it was her, did he care?
“But, not
now?” she teased.
“Now I just
might have ulterior motives…”
“Oh?”
The alcove
curtain was closed so there was no reason to fear being seen. A part of her
didn't care if they were caught without her having a chaperone. The fact that
she wasn't supposed to be here because of her mourning period added to the
risk. It was enticing. She closed the distance between them by approaching him,
placing her hands on his chest. “I want to thank you.”
“I told you it
wasn't necessary.” His voice sounded suddenly husky.
“I think it
is.” Their lips were inches apart and they stood that way for what seemed an
eternity. When Fara thought she would go mad with the waiting, he lowered his
lips to hers, softly questing. Their mouths lingered, lost in sensation and the
essence of one another until finally he pulled away. Through their masks and
the silence of the alcove, there was an element Fara couldn't quite pinpoint.
Temptation perhaps? She wanted to give in to the unspoken need, but it would be
idiocy to act on it.
Grant
whispered, “Mademoiselle Bellamont, you are a tease.”
He had accused
her of it before, but now she could only sigh. “You would know if I was
teasing, Capitaine.” At his frown, she shook her head. Reality returned
just as it always did. There were obligations. Grant then escorted her back to
Helene and Rosalie and they left the governor's mansion. Part of her could only
muse what it might have been like if they'd had nothing to worry about. Could
she have a chance with Grant? Her heart needed to believe in the possibility.
* * * *
A few days
later, Fara rose as she did on most days, attentively checking on the servants
in the rooms and keeping order to the household. But, underneath those duties,
she planned to spend a day away from the house. She needed the fresh air and
warm sun to lift her drowning spirits. She was endlessly tired of staying
inside, overseeing tasks and organizing meals. She felt if she stayed in today,
she might scream or do something drastic. The events of the past week had left
her restless and distracted. After a morning respite, she left the house,
purposefully withholding the information of her plans from any of the servants.
Normally, she would have asked Pierre to drive her into town, but she needed to
walk. And she wanted to be alone.
With a small change
purse tied to her wrist, she headed in the direction of the markets. She would
not buy food today; the cook was not yet complaining. Fara planned to visit a
milliner's shop nearby. She would treat herself to a nice bonnet or something.
She wanted to fill the void that caused her restlessness. She felt as if
something was missing and somehow she would have to replace it.
A half hour
later, after making a preliminary order to Madame Privet for a simple,
yet sophisticated mauve muslin gown, she paid the woman for her trouble and a
delivery date was promised. Fara expressed her gratitude for the woman's
assistance and left the shop. As she headed into the street, a man cleared his
throat behind her.
“Didn't your
mother advise you never to leave the house without an escort?”
She turned to
stare into a pair of gray eyes. Who else but Capitaine Hill might follow
her? “Of course, but it has been so long, tis' difficult to remember.”
“Or, perhaps
you enjoy bending the rules at times?”
She frowned.
“Whose rules, Capitaine? Yours or mine? Or perhaps it is society we
should blame.”
They had not
spoken of what had occurred at the ball since he'd escorted her back to Helene
and Rosalie that night. She wondered if he was simply disappointed that she had
stepped out of the role she was meant to play for an evening. What if he
thought her promiscuous, eager to take any man's offer and act on his whim?
That wouldn't be good at all. Part of her couldn't see why she should care at
all what he thought. The other part, however, felt entirely different. She was
attached to him in a way she couldn't explain. He either drove her mad with how
he hounded her one moment and the next; she couldn't help but feel more for
him, something like admiration and well, attraction.
He smiled slightly.
“You've made your point, but you cannot deny the danger of such negligence.
Your antics may encourage me to become your shadow from now on.”
She turned
away, aware of a rising and sinking sensation in her stomach. “A disturbing
thought, Monsieur.”
“Isn't it?
Perhaps were you another lady, you might ask that I occupy such a position, but
it is your choice now. Enough time has passed, and I can assume from your
behavior that Monsieur Spencer was lax in his duties.”
“I do not
require that service. But…” she glanced at him curiously as he had decided to
walk at her side. “If I did request it, what reward might you seek?”
He grinned. “I
could pretend you think I am incapable of ulterior motives, Mademoiselle.
But, of course, the only reward I seek is the pleasure of your company.”
“So smoothly
spoken, Monsieur, and somehow familiar. Were you not trained to do so?”
“Trained to be
charming? No, it is a trait a man acquires on his own.”
“That is not
what I meant. In your line of work, you must be considerably adept
at…negotiation.” As she observed him, he seemed to become less relaxed. A scowl
settled on his face and his fists clenched. She had touched on a sensitive
issue, so it seemed. “Grant, I--”
“Of course,
one must always be willing to use every means available to gain an acceptable
result.”
As quickly as
anger and unease had taken him, once more he seemed relaxed. But, she felt he
knew his boundaries. She had said the wrong thing, and he had only allowed
himself to react for a mere second. Now, his manner was formal and amiable, yet
guarded. The man was difficult to decipher like a long forgotten language in
some old text. She did not know why he had become sensitive when she spoke of
negotiation, and she felt that asking him would gain her nothing. He eyed her
now as if even her silence was suspicious. “Capitaine,” she said gently,
taking his arm, “since I have forgotten the rules, would you mind escorting me
back home?”
He nodded
easily enough, but he looked neither glad nor dissatisfied. “Of course, Mademoiselle.”
As he led her
away, she wondered at his resigned response. Perhaps he felt just as utterly
obligated as she in most things. Even if she wanted to do something
wholeheartedly, she could not do it for long. And she could not truly enjoy it.
It wasn't right. And if her presence was requested, she could not always
refuse. Only when she had a choice could she refuse something. And she was not
given the power of personal decision very often at all. At the same time, Grant
seemed to be the only person who understood her need to make those decisions
about her life.
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