No Place for a Lady (28 page)

She was tired. And old.

How mortifying to discover that her father had been right all along. It was time to settle into a comfortable life with a husband. Even that was better than starving to death. And if she once viewed marriage as whoring, albeit in a respectable manner with a single customer, well then, she had begun to think that Louise had the right of it. Whoring was the only option for girls like her.

Marcus's words echoed again in her mind.
I have no intentions whatsoever.

Fantine curled onto her side and cried.

* * *

"You look delightful. Simply delightful. Lottie, you have an excellent eye. That burgundy silk is perfect. It brings out the red in her hair. And the white lace overskirt conveys just the right amount of modesty for a girl in her coming out. Perfect, child. You are perfect."

Fantine nodded as she had been nodding for the last hour.

"You must remember not to catch the skirt in the mud. It can be ruinous. A pity your hair is so short. It is a beautiful shade, especially as that dress brings it out to perfection. Still it is so short, but I believe we have made it fetching."

"Yes, my lady."

"Remember not to dance with any gentleman more than twice—"

"Mother!" Lottie cut in. "Fantine knows all this."

"What about the story we have put about? She is Penworthy's niece, yes, but that she is also a dear friend of a dear friend of mine? A companion to my neighbor's neighbor, so to speak."

"She knows all of it."

Both women turned to inspect Fantine. "I remember everything," she responded dutifully.

"Oh, my," Lady Anne continued, "I must attend to my own gown. Now do not be nervous, Fantine. You shall be splendid."

"Yes, my lady."

Lady Anne hesitated a moment more, but then she scurried off to her own room. Only Lottie remained, and she shot Fantine a tiny worried frown.

"Fantine—"

"I am quite well. Truly. Both you and your mother have been most kind. I have learned my lessons well, and I swear I will not shame you."

Lottie's frown deepened as she toyed with her fan. "You misunderstand. I know you shall be absolutely perfect. But I am worried nonetheless."

Fantine turned. Her legs already ached from standing, but she did not dare sit down for fear of rumpling her ball gown. She merely frowned at her companion. "I do not understand."

"Hang it!" cried Lottie, dropping onto the bed, completely heedless of creasing her own gown. "Just look at you!"

Fantine looked down, wondering what she had done amiss.

"No, not at your gown. At you!" Then Lottie stood up and turned Fantine around to stare at herself in the mirror. Her face was fashionably pale, her eyes appeared large and dark from the kohl, and her expression remained cool. She looked like any of the other debutantes she could recall.

"When Marcus first brought you to my door, your cheeks were rosy, your eyes sparkled, you seemed to bring an energy to everyone and everything about you. But now..." She shook her head. "Now I do not know what I have done to you. All last night and today, you have been like a marionette."

Fantine bit her lip. Had her thoughts been so apparent? "Is it my mother?" pressed Lottie. "Does she frighten you?"

Fantine spun around. "Oh, no! You and your mother have been perfectly kind. She is merely used to getting her own way."

Lottie nodded sagely, as if that were just the answer she expected. Then she stood up from the bed, crossing her arms and looking so reproachful, Fantine once again checked her gown. "Then it is just as I suspected. Very well, Fantine, you might as well tell me. What has my wretched brother done now?"

"Marcus?"

"Well, of course, Marcus. If it is not the ball, my mother, or myself, then it must be Marcus."

"Blimey, Lottie," she snapped, "the world does not revolve around your brother. There are any number of things that could upset me, all of which have nothing to do with Marcus!"

"Very well then, what are they?"

Fantine threw up her hands, turning away from both Lottie and their reflection in the mirror. But the only direction that remained was toward the door. And it was at that moment that she saw the one man she had tried to force from her thoughts for the last twenty-four hours.

Marcus.

He looked as handsome as ever. She had seen him in his ballroom attire before: black coat and pants, single diamond pin that sparkled almost as brilliantly as his eyes.

All was as it had been before, except for one thing. This time, he lounged against her bedroom door, a hungry look heating his expression, heating her body until her very blood seem to burn with it.

"What are you doing here?" cried Lottie. "I thought Mother sent you off to Scotland."

"I do not always go where Mother sends me."

"So you chose instead to come around here, cutting up Fantine's peace just when she most needs it. Really, brother, I had thought you—"

"Enough, Lottie," he interrupted, his gaze still locked on Fantine. "You and Mother cannot keep me from Fantine no matter how much you screech. So why not bow to the inevitable and leave gracefully, hmm?"

"You overbearing, arrogant pig!" That came from Fantine, and it startled everyone, including herself.

Lottie stared at her. "That is the most feeling you have shown all day."

"Then perhaps I should stay," cut in Marcus, "and see what other miracles I can achieve."

Fantine opened her mouth to deny him, but she did not get the chance. Lottie was there before her. "She will see you in the library." Then she firmly slammed the door in Marcus's face.

"But—" began Fantine; then she stopped. Lottie was turning around, a fiercely maternal look on her face.

"No, Fantine. It is my turn to speak." Lottie stepped forward, taking Fantine's hands and pulling her over to sit on the bed. "You have fallen in love with him."

If her face was overheated a moment ago, it suddenly felt very cold and clammy.

"Oh, Lord, do not faint on me!"

Fantine stiffened, insulted to the core. "I never faint!"

"Of course, you would not. My apologies. Goodness, I am handling this very badly."

Fantine closed her eyes, fighting to gain control of her thoughts. But nothing was stable, and the world shifted too quickly for her to keep up. "Lottie—"

"No, pray do not say it. Whether you deny it or not, I can see the answer on your face."

Fantine opened her eyes. Bloody hell, but she was slipping. Taking another deep breath, she clamped down on her thoughts and riotous emotions. Through sheer force of will, she changed the subject. "I am going to my first ball. That is what I am thinking about. And I am delighted."

"Good. Excellent." Lottie, too, appeared to be struggling, but soon her expression settled. "Now, listen carefully. Marcus is drawn to you, but if he has not offered you marriage by now, he will never do so. It has nothing to do with your parentage or his. If he truly loved you, he would brave everything—including social ruin—for you. But he has not. And that tells me that only his... er... his unmentionables are affected. Not his heart."

Fantine looked away, clenching her jaw to keep from reacting. Lottie had not said anything new. She had merely put voice to the very words that had haunted Fantine for the last day. But to finally hear them from someone else...

It hurt terribly.

"I am sorry." Lottie's words were soft and her touch gentle as she squeezed Fantine's hands. "I did not wish to say it so baldly, but you must know it to be true. If you are to make the most of your Season now, you cannot spend the rest—"

"I know. I have resolved to get a husband, Lottie. A respectable one." Fantine raised her gaze, pleased that her voice sounded steady and firm.

She was rewarded by Lottie's smile. "Excellent. You shall make a brilliant match. You have the makings of a countess or better. I am sure of it."

Fantine shook her head, her determination becoming firmer by the second. "My mother counted titles. I will not. I merely want a kind man. No more, no less. I can be content with that. In fact, I was thinking of Mr. Thompson."

Lottie grinned, pulling Fantine to her feet. "He is a good choice, but do not be too hasty. I shall be sure to introduce you to a dozen or more kind men." She leaned forward, her voice laced with humor. "I shall especially look for kind, rich ones."

Fantine raised her gaze, looking for the first time at Lottie as a person. As a friend.

The thought astounded her. Never before had she known another female friend of her own age. Lottie wanted nothing from her, no food, no money, nothing but her happiness. It was a novel concept, and one that she did not quite trust. But at that moment, it was more precious to her than all the husbands in England. And with a sudden impulsive gesture, Fantine surged forward to hug her.

The movement was awkward. She had never given another woman a hug. Her arms went too far around, and she feared creasing Lottie's gown. But Lottie did not seem to mind. She returned the gesture enthusiastically, and Fantine felt both bolstered and embarrassed by it.

"Lottie—" she began, not knowing at all what to say.

"Oh, never mind," whispered her friend. "Come, if we do not hurry, Mother will be barging in here with a new set of instructions."

Fantine nodded, taking her cue from Lottie. When Lottie bent forward to check her own appearance, Fantine did the same. Soon, Lottie pronounced them both ready, but she still hesitated.

"Are you sure you wish to see Marcus?" she asked.

"I am beginning to learn that my wishes do not matter significantly to your brother. He will do exactly as he wishes and tell himself that it is what I require as well."

Lottie smiled. "Good. You have seen that fault in him. Keep looking. He has more."

Then, for the first time that day, Fantine felt her lips curve in a true smile. "Dozens, I should not doubt."

"At the very least," returned Lottie.

* * *

Marcus paced the small library, his long strides crossing the room in less than four steps. He had traversed the same area eighty-seven times by the time he heard them come down the stairs. What had kept them so long? It did not matter. Not so long as he could finally see her.

He stopped moving, placing himself in a casual pose, leaning against the desk. But he did not like leaning, especially since the edge of the desk cut painfully into his buttocks. So he stood again, but he could not find the correct placement for his feet. Perhaps he should stand by the window.

He crossed the room to the window.

No, the evening light slanted across his left eye. He did not wish to disrupt his vision or appear to her with an odd-colored stripe across his face. By the bar would be better.

He crossed the room again.

But he did not wish her to think he was forever drinking brandy. Especially as he felt in need of a drink. Putting his body next to temptation was not a wise idea.

He should move away. But where?

He took a step. He could not stand in the middle of the room like some statue. Perhaps—

The door scraped open, and he spun around.

Good God, she was beautiful. He had seen her upstairs. But now she held her head a little higher. Her movements were graceful, her dark beauty enriched by the burgundy silk.

He stood almost mute with wonder. There was no comparison between this goddess and the filthy urchin Rat or even the teasing barmaid Fanny. Or perhaps there was, because they were all Fantine, his changeable, enchanting, delightful Fantine.

"You have never looked lovelier," he said, his voice husky.

"Thank you, my lord." Even her voice was intoxicating—refined and smooth like the brandy he had craved only moments before. Only now, all he wanted was her.

"I am besotted."

He saw her flinch at his statement and could not understand why. Whatever the reason, he had to make amends. Fumbling briefly with his pocket, he pulled out an awkwardly wrapped box. He groaned inwardly at the inexpert folds. He had been angry with the lazy way the clerk had creased the paper, and so he had tried to redo it himself.

He should have known better. The paper looked as if it had been crumpled by a child.

"I, uh, I bought you a gift for tonight," he said. "I hope you like it. I tried to wrap it myself, but as you can see, I am not very skilled with such matters. I apologize—"

"Thank you, my lord. It was most kind of you."

"Do not think it is improper to accept it. It is merely a token. Most appropriate from any gentleman, although I hope you do not get too many. That is, I hope you are quite a success tonight, just not so much that... But I am being silly. Of course, you will get many such gifts. I should have brought you jewelry. But my mother would make you give it back, and I—"

"Thank you, my lord," she said firmly, a slight smile about her lips. "Do you think I could have the package now?"

"Hmmm? Oh!" He had not realized he had a death grip on the gift. Would nothing with Fantine ever go right? "Here," he said awkwardly. "I hope you like it."