No Place for a Lady (23 page)

"No," put in his sister as she came up to hug them both. "God help me, for I shall have to control you both."

Chapter 12

Marcus tried not to pace the small parlor in his sister's home. It had been a week, perhaps the longest week of his life, but he had stayed away. Lottie had insisted Fantine would adjust better without his interference, so he had remained scrupulously absent. But she had been in his thoughts constantly. Not even the search for the mysterious Teggie had provided distraction.

How was she faring? Did she hate him for abandoning her? Was Lottie being too hard on her? Or the reverse? The questions churned in his mind, anxious for resolution.

The parlor door opened, and Marcus spun around.

It was only tea, served by the butler, Fitzhugh. Marcus cursed and turned back toward the window. Good Lord, could women never keep an appointment? Lottie had distinctly said to come for tea. Tea was at four o'clock. It was four now, and she was not here. He slapped his gloves against his palm.

"Goodness, brother, you look as fierce as a bear."

Marcus twisted around, his gaze skipping right over his sister to scan the hallway behind her.

It was empty. No Fantine.

"Where is she? Did you explain to her that you absolutely insisted I stay away? Does she understand that?"

"Marcus! Contain yourself." Then her eyes widened in surprise. "To think that I would ever have to say that to you. Why, Marcus, I do believe you have changed."

Muttering a curse that reddened his sister's ears, he dropped unceremoniously into a chair. "Just tell me what has been happening here in the last week."

Lottie settled gracefully into a nearby chair, carefully serving tea. "What do you think has been happening? We have had dress fittings, dance lessons, deportment lessons, French lessons, shopping, and basic instruction in things I thought everyone knew. Did you know she had not the least clue what an oyster was or what one did with them?"

Marcus took his tea from his sister and immediately set it down. "Yes, yes, I could have guessed that. But how has she been faring? Is she happy? And where is she?"

"My goodness! She is upstairs practicing her curtsies. You can see her at her first ball and not before."

Marcus ground his teeth, but his sister was firm.

"I have precious little time to bring her up to scratch, Marcus, and I do not want you upsetting the balance. There is still a lot for her to learn."

Marcus grumbled into his teacup, understanding the wisdom of not distracting Fantine, but resenting it nonetheless. Finally he turned his sour expression on his sister. "But is she happy? Have you told her why I have stayed away?"

Lottie nodded. "I have explained it, and she seemed to understand. She also appears happy. Lord knows the servants adore her. She always seems to know just what to say to them."

Marcus sighed, somewhat reassured. "What about her manners? Was there a great deal for her to learn?"

"No, not learn. But these things must become habit. She cannot forever be slipping into Cockney when she is frustrated. Though I must say she handled Mr. Thompson quite well."

Marcus straightened his spine as he focused almost painfully on his sister. "Mr. Thompson? Mr. Edwin Thompson whose father is Baron Thompson of Birmingham? She has seen him but not me?"

Lottie set down her own cup of tea with a frown. "He merely came by to speak with Christopher. You know our estates border one another."

Marcus waved away the history. "Yes, yes, but what happened?"

"Nothing happened! He stayed for tea. And Fantine was quite charming." Marcus watched as a slight smile formed on his sister's face. "In fact, he seemed quite taken with her. He is in London hunting for a wife, you know. I begin to think that he and Fantine would do quite well."

"Good God, Lottie," gasped Marcus, "she has only been here a week, and you already have her walking down the aisle!"

His sister's smile broadened. "It is not I who would have her walking down the aisle, but Mr. Thompson."

Marcus shifted irritably, nearly knocking over his teacup with his movements. "It is much too early to be thinking of Mr. Thompson," he snapped. "Let her go to some balls and parties—"

"Well, of course I shall!" she responded with a grin. "I was merely commenting that Mr. Thompson seemed quite taken with her. And she with him, for that matter. He has already returned for tea twice more, and we are having him to dinner tomorrow night. And no, you cannot come," she said before he could ask. "I do not think you are in the appropriate mood for such an event."

Marcus would have said something scathing, but he held his tongue. Lottie was enjoying his ill humor too much for him to indulge it further. But Mr. Thompson! It was not that the man was objectionable. In fact, he was the epitome of stalwart English fare, as moral and upright as they came. "He simply will not do for Fantine," Marcus groused.

He had not realized that he had spoken aloud until his sister cut into his thoughts, her voice soft with reprimand. "I believe that is for Fantine to decide, is it not?"

Marcus pressed his lips together, refusing to be drawn into an argument. He pushed out of his chair instead, pacing to the cold fire grate as he spoke. "What about her dancing and deportment and such? Is she doing well with that?"

Glancing back, he saw Lottie shrug, her manner slightly guarded. "She has thrown herself into it like a woman possessed."

"So she is doing well? She is learning."

Lottie sighed. "She is constantly watching me, learning heaven alone knows what. I swear she mimics me in her sleep."

Marcus nodded as he carefully studied his sister's expression. "But that is all to the best, is it not?"

"Of course," she said slowly. "I am perfectly pleased with her progress." But her voice belied her statement.

"Tell me, Lottie. What is it?"

She took her time answering, and Marcus had to wait as she sipped her tea. Finally, she set down her cup. "Fantine and I have been in each other's company almost constantly, you know. Yet, after all this time, I still know nothing about her." She reached for a tea cake, then set it back down again and fussed with the crumbs on her fingers. "Marcus, she has thrown herself into her lessons like a woman studying a role. She has become a model of behavior. But I do not know if it is part of her." She frowned, her expression awkward. "Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

"I believe so," he said with a sigh. "Fantine's manners are like everything else, like a gown put on and easily taken off again. They are not her."

"Exactly!"

Marcus took a few steps, found himself in front of his seat, and then awkwardly settled back into it. "I know too well the uncomfortable position you are in. You want to know more about her, to share with her, to find out who she truly is—"

"You do understand!"

"Only too well." He picked up his teacup and stared pensively into the dark water. "Unfortunately, Fantine does not reveal herself easily to anyone. Even her own father is not very sure of her."

Lottie leaned forward to add a bit more hot water to his teacup. When she spoke, her tone was casual. "Who is her father? Why has he not brought her out? Fantine has never spoken of her family."

Marcus shook his head. "And neither can I. But to answer your question in part, she is of noble blood, but he cannot bring her out. Circumstances prevent it."

"A bastard then. I feared it was so," Lottie said.

Marcus's breath caught in his chest. His family could be rather prim in their notions. Was Lottie about to cancel their arrangement? She could with perfect propriety, and as the seconds ticked by, Marcus became positively alarmed.

Finally, he shifted in his seat so that he could take hold of her hand in an earnest plea if necessary. "Lottie?"

"Hmmm? Oh! Pray do not look so terrified. I was merely trying to guess her father's identity. She has such distinctive features, but I suppose she got them from her mother."

"Then you will bring her out?"

"Of course I will." Lottie gave him her most mischievous smile. "I tell you, it is a sister's fondest dreams to see her brother tortured. And tortured, my dear brother, is exactly what you appear. Good Lord, I have not seen you fidget so much since you were still in leading strings."

"I have not fidgeted!" Marcus returned, firmly planting his hands by his sides. But then he realized he needed his tea and had to reach forward for it, which necessitated a shift in the position of his legs. Then when he balanced the teacup on his knee, it began to tilt, and he...

His sister's laughter reddened his ears with mortification. In the end, he put the teacup back on the table and tried, quite unsuccessfully, to appear stern. "Well, Lottie, you may be used to this nonsense of bringing out a girl, but I have never done it before. It is somewhat wearing on the nerves."

"Clearly," responded Lottie, her voice still brimming over with mirth. "Well, dear brother," she added in a more serious tone, "one thing you can cease doing is your nightly rendezvous with Fantine. Aside from the impropriety of the situation, she has been destroying the ivy beneath her window. It is most unsightly, even if it is the back of the house."

If he had been fidgeting before, Marcus was suddenly very still. "Midnight rendezvous?"

"Oh, you cannot fool me. I know she climbs out of her window nearly every night. Who else would she visit but you?"

"Who, indeed?" he responded dryly, a number of possibilities running through his mind.

Lottie was quick to pick up on his tone. "Do you mean you have not been meeting her?"

He shook his head. "I have not seen her in a week."

"Good Lord, I thought it must be you. I even gave her a key and told her she could come and go by the front door. It was not necessary to risk her neck climbing the brick."

Marcus pushed out of his chair, suddenly alarmed. "You encouraged her in this madness?"

"I thought she went to see you! It has been hard enough on her these days, I thought I could count on your good sense not to abuse the poor girl. It never occurred to me—"

"That she was off with someone else?"

"But who?"

Marcus took a quick turn about the room, his thoughts churning with possibilities. "It is not a lover," he said harshly. "Fantine cannot have found one so quickly."

"Do not be too sure, brother dear," responded Lottie. "She is quite lovely. No doubt the men find her."

Marcus clenched his teeth, his thoughts grim. "You are no doubt correct. Still..." He shook his head. "There is no help for it. I shall have to follow her." He spun back to face his sister. "She goes out every night?"

Lottie nodded. "I believe so."

"Very well."

"No," she snapped, "it is not well at all. I had thought to attend our first party tomorrow night. Mother is due back any day and was to help me sponsor Fantine." She looked up, her expression fierce. "I will help her, Marcus, but do not forget she is your responsibility. Whatever she does at night, you must end it now."

"Believe me," he answered, "I have no intention of allowing any such nonsense to continue."

His sister nodded, apparently satisfied. "Now if only you could do something about her eating."

Marcus lifted an eyebrow. "Her eating?"

"I swear, she consumes enough for ten people. Why Cook took three extra trips to the market last week. Three! Yet, the girl is as skinny as a rail. I cannot understand it."

Neither could he. Then he frowned into his teacup. "I do not comprehend now, but I will before the night is over."

* * *

Marcus shifted his stance against the building and cursed as a lock of his hair caught on the rough brick. He despised this aspect of spy work—standing around in dark, uncomfortable places for hours on end. His feet had swollen, the wet had soaked clean through his trousers, and despite the coming spring, it was still damned cold.

But worst of all was the nagging suspicion that Fantine had discovered his presence and intended to forgo her midnight excursion. Or worse yet, had already given him the slip.