by Jade Lee
"I—I am fine," she said, her voice breathy. Then she recalled herself to the situation. "It is merely my ankle. I am afraid I twisted it and fell on Mr. Wilberforce."
Then she turned to the MP. The man had given up his struggle to stand and now tried to untwist himself from her gown.
"I am afraid I hurt you," she said.
He turned his head. "Nonsense. I am quite—"
"No, no," she said firmly. "I am sure of it. I have hurt you." Then she turned to Marcus. "Please, I insist we take Mr. Wilberforce home immediately. It is the least we can do."
"But I am quite well—"
"No, sir," interrupted Marcus. "I am afraid I must insist." Fantine smiled her relief, grateful that he had quickly understood the situation. "Miss Drake is quite right that she has injured you," he continued. "Why, I can see the pain you are in. Pray, allow me to offer you the use of our carriage."
"But Miss Drake—"
"Oh, no," cut in Fantine. "I shall wait here at the ball. I would simply die if you came to harm because of my clumsiness."
It was then that Wilberforce finally gave in. In truth, Fantine suspected he understood from the first what was happening, but the man was nothing if not dedicated to his cause. He would risk his life if he could convince one more person to support his crusade.
Marcus, it appeared, was equally determined. He turned to her, all the while making sure his large bulk shielded the small MP. "I shall see him safe—"
"Take an unusual route," she whispered.
"Then I will return directly for you and an explanation."
She nodded.
"And do something about your gown!"
It was not until that moment that she thought to look down. Her skirt was ripped to nearly halfway up her thigh. Fortunately, her undertunic remained only partially damaged so that merely her calf and ankle were exposed. Still, there was more than one gentleman taking an interest in the sight.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, feeling a blush heat her face. She quickly twitched the remains of her skirt over her leg while a gentleman with no gold teeth at all helped her to her feet. By the time she was situated, Marcus and Wilberforce were long gone.
Lottie and Lady Anne descended almost immediately thereafter, and Fantine had to spend the next few minutes assuring them she was quite well while trying to explain why Marcus had taken their carriage, thereby stranding the three of them.
And all the while, Hurdy lurked somewhere nearby.
* * *
Wilberforce grimaced as he settled into the carriage, throwing Marcus a reproachful glance.
"Really," he said, "I understand that bringing out a girl is a touchy affair, but were such dramatics truly necessary?"
Marcus frowned as he peered out the carriage window. "We are attempting to save your life, sir. Fantine no doubt saw something that concerned her at the ball. I will escort you to a property I recently acquired. You shall be perfectly safe there."
"Of course. Of course," the older man moaned, his tone mocking. "You are trying to save me."
Marcus squinted into the darkness outside, trying to sift form from shadow. "That is what Penworthy wished."
"And this has nothing to do with casting Mr. Thompson in the role of a heroic rescuer," the MP drawled.
Marcus pulled away from the window, finally allowing his attention to center on his companion. "I beg your pardon?"
"No need to sound so insulted," responded Wilberforce rather cheerfully. "I may be obsessed with my bill, but I am not blind. And I have taken particular interest in your Miss Dela—er, Drake." The gentleman paused and frowned. "Incidentally, why did you change her name?"
"It was necessary," Marcus responded, his voice curt.
"Hmmm. Anyway, I gather you needed an important reason to leave so that Thompson could gallantly escort the injured Fantine home. Quite neat, actually. I congratulate you. I think he is an excellent choice for her."
"So does my sister," Marcus grumbled.
Then Mr. Wilberforce touched his chin, his expression pensive. "I do hope Thompson carries her to the carriage. Women do so love grand romantic gestures."
Marcus was suddenly assaulted by a vision of Fantine in young Thompson's arms, her eyes misty, her arms wrapped around his neck, her red lips slightly parted...
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, heedless of how the expression offended the devout man. "You cannot be serious."
"Why ever not? From what I understand, they would make an excellent match. In fact, I have been doing my best to encourage Mr. Thompson. Why, just yesterday in White's, he asked about her, and I mentioned that I found her everything that is charming."
"What!" The word echoed loudly in the dark carriage.
Wilberforce had the audacity to laugh. "Well, it can hardly be surprising that I have taken an interest in her future. Penworthy has hired her to save my life. Besides," he said with a slight chuckle, "I think I may have had some small part in encouraging her to try a Season. You do recall that I told her to grasp the opportunities God presents to us, do you not?"
Marcus recalled nothing of the sort. His mind was too caught up with the thought that with the famous MP's endorsement, Fantine could not fail to make a splash this Season.
Then Wilberforce leaned forward and patted Marcus's knee in a paternal gesture. "You need not worry about her. Mr. Thompson is a good man and clearly intrigued. Given his limited time in London, I would not doubt he makes an offer within the week."
"A week?" Marcus echoed, his thoughts suddenly spinning. A week before Fantine received a proposal of marriage? It could not be possible. Why, the idea was... was... what?
Up until now, Marcus had comforted himself that there was plenty of time before the end of the Season. He had not thought she would receive a marriage proposal so soon.
But of course she would, he admonished himself. That was, in fact, exactly what his mother and sister had been trying to tell him. She was an eligible woman on the Marriage Mart. She was beautiful, smart, and had a way of moving that drew all sorts of thoughts from a man. It did not matter that her dowry was somewhat modest. A man like Thompson had enough money to make a comfortable living for the two of them.
Suddenly a marriage proposal did not sound so farfetched. Marcus groaned and let his head drop against the carriage window.
"I see you are not quite comfortable with the match," commented Wilberforce dryly.
Marcus opened his eyes. "Thompson will not be able to manage Fantine. She will run wild within a week."
The older gentleman stiffened in outrage. "Not Miss Drake! Her? Run wild? How dare you insult the lady that way! Recall that your family is bringing the girl out. If you continue spouting such nonsense, you shall ruin her chances entirely!"
Marcus felt his anger rise. He was not accustomed to being lectured by anyone, and lately it seemed that everyone from his sister to his carriage companions had taken to the task with a vengeance. "I believe I am more aware of Fantine's nature than you," he said stiffly.
"On the contrary. I believe you still see a young hoyden or some such." The MP leaned forward in earnestness. "Open your eyes, man. She is an attractive, well-mannered woman. If you did not think so at the beginning, then why do you sponsor her?"
Marcus opened his mouth to respond, various scathing responses ready on his tongue. Not a one came forth. Instead, he could only swallow, doing his best to adjust his thinking. "She cannot abide a quiet life. I practically forced this Season upon her so she could learn that wealth and peace need not mean tedium."
"You believe she would be quickly bored with Mr. Thompson?"
"I believe she would drive him and herself mad."
Wilberforce frowned and shook his head. "She must have some hobbies, something that would occupy her mind and her time. At least until the children arrive."
Marcus flinched as if he had been struck. Fantine? Pregnant with Thompson's child? The thought was nauseating. "Her... side interest is not entirely proper. Recall that she practically
thrives on tasks such as protecting your life."
Wilberforce merely shrugged. "Then let her do them. If she is indeed as good as you claim—"
"She is." The words came out without thought. Ever since their first escapade with Ballast, Marcus had known she was quite skilled at the work Penworthy assigned her.
"Well, then," continued Wilberforce, "I do not see why her God-given talent would make her any less respectable. I imagine she is quite discreet about it. Indeed, she would have to be in order to perform her task. At least until the children arrive."
Marcus rubbed his face. He had been so settled in the notion of her as his mistress that the shift to thinking of her as a proper maiden required quite a mental adjustment. It was not that he thought her disreputable. It was merely that young ladies of the ton—young wives and mothers—did not perform such dangerous tasks as Fantine clearly adored. If she were his mistress, he would allow her to do what she loved and what he loved, all at the same time.
But if she could do such and still be happy as a married woman... "If William Wilberforce," Marcus continued, speaking his thoughts aloud, "the moral center of the ton, thinks her actions entirely proper, then everyone else will too."
The thought rocked him down to the foundations of his soul. Fantine was respectable. And marriageable.
"And I just agreed to leave London!" With a blistering oath, Marcus pushed his head out the window and called to his coachman. "Whip them up, Jacob. I must return to the ballroom immediately!"
Chapter 17
She heard Hurdy's voice before she saw him. Like her, he was able to hide in a crowd. Somehow he suppressed his natural arrogance so much that one could look straight at him and not see him at all.
Much as she tried, the chaos around her prevented an active search. It was not until she heard his nearly cultured voice, talking in a subservient undertone, that she finally knew where to look for him—right beside her, speaking with Mr. Thompson.
"Excuse me, sir. Message fer the miss," said Hurdy.
"A message? For Miss Drake?" Mr. Thompson sounded as disapproving as he did confused.
"Aye, sir."
"Thank you—" Fantine said, but Mr. Thompson ignored her, being more intent on interviewing Hurdy.
"But who could be sending her a message now? Right here?"
"A message?" That was Lady Anne, spinning around to confront the footman. "Give it to me at once."
Hurdy sneered. "Naw, ducks. It be fer the miss."
"Now just one minute, you impertinent—"
"Please, Lady Anne," interrupted Fantine. "It is all quite proper, I assure you." This last was for Mr. Thompson's benefit. The man looked as if he was about to take some protective stance. "You may give it to me."
She reached up and Hurdy, dressed as a footman, stepped forward with alacrity. She took the pristine piece of linen, not even bothering to look at it. The message was in Hurdy's eyes. He wanted to speak with her. Immediately.
"But there is nothing written on it." That was from Lottie, who had been peering at the note from over Fantine's shoulder.
Fantine merely smiled. "Of course not. But I understand it nevertheless." She spoke directly to Hurdy, and the man bowed insolently before turning on his heel.
"What is this?" hissed Lady Anne, coming to stand directly in front of Fantine. "Messages with nothing on them from horrible sneering footmen? This is not—"
"It is eminently proper." This was from Lottie, her voice low and cool, effectively cutting off her mother's growing tirade. "I assure you. Mother." Then she glanced significantly around, bringing Lady Anne's attention to the numerous people obviously listening in. "It has to do with repairing her dress so she can leave properly!"
The older woman's eyes widened as she recognized the lie for what it was: a convenient excuse until they could discuss matters in private. "Very well, Lottie. Perhaps we should give Fantine our arms so she can manage on her ankle."
But before she could fit action to her words, Mr. Thompson stepped forward. "Please," he said, his voice steady and low. "Allow me."
Then he leaned over and scooped her up in his arms.
Fantine was so startled, she let out a squeak of alarm. She had not expected this, certainly never thought she would be carried in the arms of a gentleman, her body pressed firmly against the solid wall of his chest. She lifted her gaze, seeing his strong jaw, his tender smile, his dark brown eyes...
And felt a jolt of surprise.
She did not wish to see brown eyes, but clear blue ones.
Fantine could have kicked herself for her stupidity. Unfortunately, her heart was not listening. It did not appear to care that Mr. Thompson was strong and smart, that he was a gentleman and thought her respectable. Her heart only knew that he was not Marcus, and the disappointment was so keen it robbed her of breath.
"Oh, Mr. Thompson!" said Lottie. "How very kind of you."
"Not at all," he responded gravely. "I am only too happy to oblige." Then he did the oddest thing. He looked significantly at Fantine, not as a potential lover, but as a man who meant to have answers. Clearly, he knew something odd was in the wind and wanted an explanation.
It was an awkward moment. She had not thought that gentlemen of the ton could be so astute, and now suddenly she was scrambling for something to say. He was already striding through the ballroom, heading for the ladies' retiring room, but there was enough time for Fantine to redirect him.
"I know you wish for an explanation," she said, her voice low. "But—"
"You do not owe me anything. I have no claim on you. Yet."
Fantine glanced up, her hands suddenly trembling at his statement. It was a clear declaration of intent. But there was no time for this. Hurdy was waiting to speak with her.
She bit her lip, taking a desperate moment to pray for divine inspiration. None came. None of her usual glib lies, nothing that would satisfy Mr. Thompson without actually revealing anything. What could she say?
"I do not wish to start our relationship with a lie, Mr. Thompson," she whispered softly. "But I cannot take the time to explain matters right now. Please, I can only ask that you trust me. Could you take Lottie and her mother home for me?"
She felt the shift in his step immediately. He did not even pause as he turned from the ladies' retiring room toward the door.
"You wish to go home?"
"An excellent idea!" That was from Lottie, hurrying her steps to keep up with Mr. Thompson's longer ones.
But Fantine merely shook her head. "I cannot go yet, but they must. There... there is nothing wrong with my ankle. I have to speak with someone alone." She felt his arms tighten about her, and she rushed into her words. "It is not anything amorous, I assure you. Why, the very thought is nauseating," she said truthfully. "But I cannot do this with Lady Anne and Lottie constantly hovering about."
She felt him hesitate, his steps slowing with each second. "Chadwick released you to my care. Now I believe he meant more than just as a dancing partner." He shook his head. "I am sorry, but I cannot leave you alone."
They had reached the door, and Mr. Thompson called for his carriage. Lady Anne and her daughter caught up to them, both a bit breathless from their rapid pace.
"Oh, excellent," gasped the older woman. "I do thank you, Mr. Thompson, for your assistance. Are we to use your carriage?"
"It is my great pleasure to assist you." He looked significantly at Fantine. "I will take all of you home." His breath was on her face, but Fantine barely noticed. She saw instead the dark form of one of Hurdy's men around the comer. That was her destination. And she had to get there soon.
The carriage was brought around. Lottie and Lady Anne stepped forward, quickly easing themselves into the dark interior, both complaining of the chill. Then Mr. Thompson turned his attention to Fantine.
"Tell me who you must meet and where," he said softly. "I shall explain matters."
Fantine smiled, lifting her hand to touch his cheek. It was smooth and somewhat soft, and
Fantine wondered if she would spend the rest of her life with this man. Indeed, she could think of worse fates. In fact, given the situation, he might very well be the best she could expect.
"You are a very kind and considerate man," she said softly.
"You sound as if you are surprised."
She grinned. "I suppose I am. I am especially glad that you do not have three gold teeth." Then impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. He did not expect the gesture. Indeed, she had not expected to make it. But he responded quickly enough, slanting his mouth over hers with an intensity she found startling.
And somewhat dull. It was a press of flesh to flesh in all its unglorious, mundane, not at all interesting possibilities.
Nothing. Except another sharp stab of loss.
Fantine pulled away, the last remnant of joy drained from the evening. Despite everything. Despite the interest from numerous gentlemen, despite her success in finally ridding herself of Marcus, despite all the changes she had accomplished in her time with Lottie, one single inalienable fact remained.
She was alone. And would always be.
Even if she married this man, slept in his bed, and bore his children, she would still be alone. She did not love him.
With a sudden twist, she slipped out of Mr. Thompson's arms. She did not speak. She did not know what to say, and she would not trust her voice even if she did. So before he could react, she ran away, her feet flying over the stones.
Toward Hurdy.
Moments later she heard the sound of Mr. Thompson's carriage moving away. He had left. Lottie and Lady Anne were safely out of the way, and now she could concentrate on Hurdy.
By herself. Again.
"Where is he?" she demanded abruptly of the dark figure by the side of the building.
"Waitin' fer ye. Come on."
It was just as well that they had come to a ball thrown by one of the wealthiest families in London. They had a huge home and an extensive garden path behind it. The area was lit with glowing colored lanterns that lent a magical quality to the greenery without overly illuminating anything.
