Fantine found the effect rather disconcerting. Even her mother had never seemed so... so maternal.
"Do you like them?"
Fantine followed the lady's gesture to see three exquisite day gowns spread out over the large bed. The first was a bright canary yellow, the others of colorful patterns, one of pink and lavender, the other of green and gold.
"They will be a trifle large for you, I fear. I am somewhat taller than you, but they shall have to do until we can get you some of your own."
"My own?" Fantine echoed.
"Why, yes. You cannot have a Season in my cast-off gowns."
"A Season?" Up until that moment, she had blissfully forgotten that Marcus planned for her to make a debut in society. She had been focusing her thoughts on what she would learn and how she would find the mysterious Teggie.
Lady Charlotte frowned and folded her arms across her chest, and Fantine had to steel herself against shying backward. "What has Marcus told you?" Charlotte asked.
Fantine took a deep breath, forcibly bringing her thoughts into focus. "Marcus has a lot of strange ideas, my lady."
"Please call me Lottie. I cannot be easy with someone who is always milady this and milady that-ing me."
Fantine blinked, her thoughts stumbling. "You do not wish me to use your tide?" But everyone with a tide wanted people to use it. Everyone including Marcus, which was, of course, exactly why she used his Christian name.
"Oh, my," Lady Charlotte continued blithely. "You have some terrible bruises on your legs. Shall I call for a doctor?"
"For bruises?" Fantine blinked in confusion.
"My physician can be here in a twinkling."
"No. No, thank you." Fantine shook her head, her thoughts still reeling. A physician, she thought dazedly, not a surgeon. Physicians were for the upper crust. People like her had surgeons.
"Come, come," chided the woman gently. "We cannot have you standing about in your shift. Try the canary yellow."
Then before she could so much as blink, Fantine found herself pulling on a gown of the finest silk. It was the softest material that had ever touched her skin, and yet she could only stare awkwardly down at it.
The last time she had touched anything like this had been when she was in school. In a flash, all her memories came back to her—each cruel remark, each cutting act. She could not go through that again. She could not.
"This is a mistake," she said as she pulled at the skirt, trying to take it off.
But Lady Charlotte pushed her hands away. "Give me just a minute to button the back."
Fantine's anxieties began to build. She should never have come here. Marcus had confused her, getting her to agree against her better judgment. She belonged in the rookeries and no good would come of taking her out of the one place she understood.
"I think I should go home," she said, reaching behind her to undo the buttons. "Thank you so much for all you have done. If you could send my other clothes, then I shall be off."
"Oh!" the woman exclaimed. "But Marcus ordered them burned."
Fantine turned, her hands dropping down to her sides. "He burned my clothes?"
"Yes," she said slowly. "In fact, he made sure it was done immediately, and then he warned me that it might make you angry."
"Too roight, it does!" Fantine said, forgetting her accent and slipping into Cockney. "'E 'ad no right!"
"Yes, I know. I think that is exactly why he did it."
"Why, the bloody nob!" Fantine folded her arms across her bodice and spun around, staring into the fire as if it would give her some answers or at least calm her nerves. It did not. It only reminded her that Marcus had burned her clothes.
"Dirty high-handed bloody nob," she muttered. Then she sneezed, her damp hair chilling her despite the fire. "He burned my clothes so I could not leave. He knows I cannot go to the rookery in your clothing. I would stick out like a sore thumb."
She heard a rustle as Lady Charlotte stepped toward her. "But why would you wish to go there?"
"Because that is where I belong," she snapped. It was some moments more before Fantine got control of herself enough to regret her rudeness. Whatever else had happened, Lady Charlotte was blameless. The woman was kind in the best sense of the word. She did not deserve Fantine's ill humor.
Turning around, Fantine tried to apologize. "Please forgive me. Your brother brings out the worst in me. You have been most generous, and I have no wish to offend you."
The woman smiled, the gesture warm and friendly despite her words. "But you have offended me," she said. "I think you do not wish me to bring you out."
"I do not wish for a coming-out at all," Fantine said, her voice rough as her fears found an outlet in her voice. "But your brother seems to think—"
"Yes, my brother," interrupted Lady Charlotte. "I have struck a bargain with him, you know. I am to bring you out, and he is to be forever in my debt. I thought it most unfair at first, but I begin to think I have gotten the better of it. I shall be watching you very closely, you see."
Fantine bristled, sensing another high-handed nob. "I have no need of a nursemaid!"
"Oh, I have no intention of being one. What I want to know is what you have done to my brother. And that, I believe, can only be learned by watching you. I have the feeling your tactics have been most unorthodox."
"I have done nothing but hit him over the head when he most deserved it." Fantine spoke without thinking, releasing more of her pent-up frustration.
"Ah," returned Lady Charlotte. "As I said, unorthodox. I shall have to try it sometime."
Fantine frowned. "I do not understand."
Lady Charlotte grinned at her. "Bentley tells me Marcus actually laughed out loud today. We think he either told a joke or has taken up with a child mistress. And he smiled at me just this morning."
"This is unusual?"
"Most unusual. Mother and I have been racking our brains trying to discover the reason for the change. And now I find it literally on my doorstep."
Fantine shook her head, putting her arms out in a gesture of defense. "Oh, no, my lady. You cannot blame me for Marcus! He was domineering, arrogant, and as mad as a bedlamite when I first met him. I cannot help it if you have only now discovered it."
"Well, the domineering and arrogant part is common knowledge. I merely wish to know how he became crazy—"
"My, you do look lovely in yellow," drawled a low voice from the door.
Lady Charlotte and Fantine spun around, indignation radiating from both of them.
"Marcus!" cried his sister. "Where are you manners?"
"I am afraid I have had to discard them where Fantine is concerned." He spoke to Lady Charlotte, but his eyes remained fixed on Fantine.
"Then find them again! You cannot just walk into a lady's dressing room."
"But that is just the point," said Fantine softly. "He does not think of me as a lady. He wants me as his mistress."
Lady Charlotte pressed her hand to her bodice in shock. "It cannot be true!"
Marcus merely smiled as he let his gaze travel the length of Fantine's gown, returning slowly to her face. "Could any man resist such loveliness?"
Fantine bit her lip, her face heating with embarrassment and excitement both. She had never seen a man look at her with such naked hunger, and she felt the heat of a blush burn all the way down to her toes.
Lady Charlotte, however, had an entirely different reaction. Stepping directly in front of her brother, she placed her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "You are a pig, Marcus! An oinking, dirty, smelly pig!"
Marcus's eyes widened in surprise. "Why, Lottie, I bathed this very morning."
"Nevertheless," she said primly, "you stink. Now get out of my house before I punch you." Then she made an awkward fist and raised it to his nose.
His lips twitched. Fantine distinctly saw the glimmerings of humor pull at his cheeks, but he responded with absolute gravity. "Please, I beg of you not to hurt me, sister dear. I merely wished to insure—"
"Insure this, brother dear. Fantine will stay. You will go." Then she pushed her brother square in the chest.
"But you cannot wish me to stay now!" Fantine exclaimed. "Not... not now that you know..." Her voice trailed away.
Lady Charlotte turn around. "Know what? That my brother is a pig? I knew that already. That he would have designs on your virtue? Well, he is a man, after all, and there is only so much maturity one can expect from them."
Fantine shook her head, unable to understand this bizarre situation. Why, the woman had threatened to punch Marcus! "You do not understand. I am..." Her voice faded away.
This time Marcus was the one to speak, his eyes suddenly grave, all traces of humor gone. "You are what, Fantine?"
She shook her head, uncertain what she had meant to say. "I do not belong here."
She did not hear him step away from his sister, neither did she hear his approach, but before long, she felt his arms around her, drawing her into his embrace. "You are right," he said softly. "Fanny does not belong here. Neither does Rat. But what about Fantine Delarive?"
She pulled out of his arms. "I am Rat and Fanny."
He shook his head. "No. You playact Rat and Fanny. But you are Fantine Delarive. I think you have been pretending to be someone else for so long that you do not know who you are anymore."
"You are being ridiculous." She tried to speak firmly, but her voice was high and nervous as she sensed the truth in his words. "Besides, I am supposed to be Fantine Drake," she said, reminding him that he was merely pushing a new role and a new history on her.
But he simply shook his head. "Fantine Drake and Fantine Delarive can become the same person. Make them the same. Choose your future. From where I stand, Miss Drake is not my mistress. Neither is she a child or a strumpet. But what do you see? Who do you want to be?"
She pushed away from him, hating the entire conversation, hating the way he made her think of things she wished safely buried. "It makes no difference!"
He did not follow her, but neither did he stop pressing her. "Fantine, you resist the role of mistress because you believe it will make you into your mother. Yet that could never be you. You will never be the woman who reared you."
She shook her head. "You do not understand."
"I think I do. Your life in the rookeries has forced you to playact one role after another to survive. You never had time to discover what you thought, what you wanted, what you need. It was always the daily fight to survive."
"That is how it is there."
"Exactly. But part of you wants to know, wants to find out more. That is why you searched out your father so many years ago. That is why you stubbornly refuse any type of aid now. You do not want to be thrust into a role until you discover who you are. But you cannot discover that without the time to think. Who will you become when you no longer struggle to find your next meal? I vow I am almost as curious as you."
Fantine bit her lip, her thoughts and emotions knotted together. Then she felt him step up behind her, his presence warmer than the fire.
"You are here now," he said softly as he rested his hands on her shoulders. "Be anything you wish. Pick the life you want and make it your own."
She shook her head, feeling tears blur her sight. "I do not know how."
He turned her around and lifted her chin until she looked directly at him, her entire vision filled with his smile. "That is why I am here. And Lottie. And, God help you, my mother. We will all show you how to go on, if only you will let us."
Fantine looked away, unable to bear the burning intensity of his blue eyes. She knew what he was asking of her, knew he wanted her to commit to learning the ways of a lady. It was a frightening thought. She knew how to pretend for an hour or two, knew also how to laugh in the face of the spiteful women of society. But to actually seek to be one of them? To be accepted into their ranks? She had tried in school and had been crushed.
As if reading her thoughts, Marcus lowered his head, whispering into her ear, "You can do it. And you promised you would try. If nothing else, I thought I could count on your word."
Fantine closed her eyes. Surrounded by his arms, she felt oddly powerful, as if his very presence would prevent her from saying or doing the wrong thing. His arms were so strong, she could almost fancy them a shield against acid-tongued women. With him beside her, she believed it was possible.
She could become Miss Fantine Drake, highborn lady.
Lifting her chin, she met his gaze, drawing strength from his steady gaze. "Very well. I will do it," she said.
He grinned at her. The change in expression was so sudden and so complete, she was momentarily taken aback. His eyes crinkled slightly at the comers, his teeth, though even and white, looked almost too large for his jaw. All in all, he looked... boyish.
And even more charming than before.
"Lawks," she suddenly drawled in her worst cant. "Oi'm to be a member o' the ton."
"God help the aristocracy," returned Marcus, still grinning.