her bedroom. She heard the front door close.
She groaned. Why did he feel obligated to attend the reading of the will? That was her business. His interference in her life was certainly not helping matters these days. It being Thursday, however, she only had the weekend to prepare for what might happen. She couldn't begin to imagine what the will would say; mostly she feared what was on that piece of paper would change her whole life. Losing her uncle had been enough of a shock; losing everything would be devastating.
* * * *
May 23, 1863
On the following Tuesday, the library was busier than ever before. People mulled around in obvious anxiety about the will. The activity there was not so unfamiliar though. Every once in a while, her uncle conducted business in the house, but only in the library. During the times that he had associates over, she would hear stern tones and chuckling from time to time through the thick door. She had not been allowed to attend his meetings though. The men had most likely discussed political goings-on and business issues. But today, business was a legal affair. Politics were removed from the scene entirely. And the tone was grave, indeed.
Fara was aware of the tall man who stood by the doorway of the library, but she averted her gaze. He might feel he has a right to be here, but I'm not obligated to acknowledge him. He had somehow become her shadow at every possible moment, and she was tired of the way he took control of situations when he thought she had nowhere to turn. The man's looks aside, she did not need Grant to direct her affairs as he saw fit. Michel de Bellamont had assumed that role since he'd taken her in as a child. It was enough to endure over the years. She did not need that any longer. If society expected a man to act as her escort, she would heed it. But, in no way did she want just any man to believe he could steer her through life as well.
She was alone. She could take care of herself now. Her uncle had been her only caretaker after her parents' deaths and there was no one else who could take over. She was eighteen. Surely some exception existed that allowed even a lowly woman to find the means necessary to support herself without resorting to another man's assistance. Perhaps she could become a seamstress and be employed by the milliner. It was the only skill, aside from a slight knowledge of the pianoforte, which her mother had bestowed upon her before her sudden passing.
A stout, yet well-groomed man with weary brown eyes swept into the room, the same man who had warned her of this event. He took a central place at a writing desk. The others in the room, fellow colleagues of Michel de Bellamont as well as the servants, focused on him. Monsieur Lumas cleared his throat as he looked down at the large book he held open. “The first order of business here is to establish that all persons present will accept Monsieur Bellamont's wishes or those persons may leave. Monsieur Bellamont has stated this for certain: if those persons see fit to leave the premises due to some dissatisfaction with his wishes, their given belongings may change hands.”
He glanced up to check that everyone agreed. “I, Michel de Bellamont, bequeath my business affairs, including the most recent deals and profits, to Messieurs Fawler and Queret. They are both capable of taking such responsibility and will not object to my decision.”
The two gentlemen standing by a tall bookshelf exchanged pleased looks.
“The house will be paid for a year henceforth and then it will be auctioned off. All of the workers employed by me will be in service at the house and be given their wages until my niece finds other lodging.”
Fara glanced at Rosalie, who seemed to take the news well. Perhaps it was the security of a possible year's work that relieved her.
The lawyer continued reading: “My niece is betrothed to Monsieur Bordeaux. They are scheduled to be married in six months. If for any reason he
She groaned. Why did he feel obligated to attend the reading of the will? That was her business. His interference in her life was certainly not helping matters these days. It being Thursday, however, she only had the weekend to prepare for what might happen. She couldn't begin to imagine what the will would say; mostly she feared what was on that piece of paper would change her whole life. Losing her uncle had been enough of a shock; losing everything would be devastating.
* * * *
May 23, 1863
On the following Tuesday, the library was busier than ever before. People mulled around in obvious anxiety about the will. The activity there was not so unfamiliar though. Every once in a while, her uncle conducted business in the house, but only in the library. During the times that he had associates over, she would hear stern tones and chuckling from time to time through the thick door. She had not been allowed to attend his meetings though. The men had most likely discussed political goings-on and business issues. But today, business was a legal affair. Politics were removed from the scene entirely. And the tone was grave, indeed.
Fara was aware of the tall man who stood by the doorway of the library, but she averted her gaze. He might feel he has a right to be here, but I'm not obligated to acknowledge him. He had somehow become her shadow at every possible moment, and she was tired of the way he took control of situations when he thought she had nowhere to turn. The man's looks aside, she did not need Grant to direct her affairs as he saw fit. Michel de Bellamont had assumed that role since he'd taken her in as a child. It was enough to endure over the years. She did not need that any longer. If society expected a man to act as her escort, she would heed it. But, in no way did she want just any man to believe he could steer her through life as well.
She was alone. She could take care of herself now. Her uncle had been her only caretaker after her parents' deaths and there was no one else who could take over. She was eighteen. Surely some exception existed that allowed even a lowly woman to find the means necessary to support herself without resorting to another man's assistance. Perhaps she could become a seamstress and be employed by the milliner. It was the only skill, aside from a slight knowledge of the pianoforte, which her mother had bestowed upon her before her sudden passing.
A stout, yet well-groomed man with weary brown eyes swept into the room, the same man who had warned her of this event. He took a central place at a writing desk. The others in the room, fellow colleagues of Michel de Bellamont as well as the servants, focused on him. Monsieur Lumas cleared his throat as he looked down at the large book he held open. “The first order of business here is to establish that all persons present will accept Monsieur Bellamont's wishes or those persons may leave. Monsieur Bellamont has stated this for certain: if those persons see fit to leave the premises due to some dissatisfaction with his wishes, their given belongings may change hands.”
He glanced up to check that everyone agreed. “I, Michel de Bellamont, bequeath my business affairs, including the most recent deals and profits, to Messieurs Fawler and Queret. They are both capable of taking such responsibility and will not object to my decision.”
The two gentlemen standing by a tall bookshelf exchanged pleased looks.
“The house will be paid for a year henceforth and then it will be auctioned off. All of the workers employed by me will be in service at the house and be given their wages until my niece finds other lodging.”
Fara glanced at Rosalie, who seemed to take the news well. Perhaps it was the security of a possible year's work that relieved her.
The lawyer continued reading: “My niece is betrothed to Monsieur Bordeaux. They are scheduled to be married in six months. If for any reason he
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