A/N: Salutations, perusers of the written word! :)

Reviewers who are anonymous:

Guest -Thanks for the review! Haha, you can feel whatever you want for Finn ;) Hmmm...maybe Quinn will, and maybe she won't. And maybe Rachel will, and maybe she won't. Only time will tell *cackles* ;) Anywho, thanks again for the review, and I hope you like this chapter! :)

HD -Thanks! Here's chapter 3! :)

jock -Thank you for the review! Hahaha, you know you loved the cliff hanger last chapter, don't lie ;) I'm really glad you gave this story a try! I'm even more thrilled that you like it so much already! :D Haha, yes, it will definitely be an interesting dynamic between Finn and Quinn, but will it be volatile or passive-aggressive? We'll see as the story progresses ;) I'm really glad you're liking Quinn! And the Faberry meet! :D It was definitely my favorite part writing so far :) Don't know if Santana or the grandmother will be making an appearance again in this story, though...We'll just have to see where the plot takes us :) Anyway, thanks again for the review, and I hope the rest of the story doesn't disappoint! :)

Em -Thanks for the review! I hope you like this chapter! :)

Hmmm...Can't think of anything else right now, so happy reading, everyone! :)


Quinn was amazed she could even find her voice. The one girl who managed to turn her head was her brother's fiancé. How bitterly ironic. "Good evening, Miss Berry."

Finn, who had risen as soon as Rachel and her family were announced, cast a suspicious glance in Quinn's direction. "You two have met?" He turned to Rachel for verification.

Rachel nodded. "We have. This afternoon, in fact. In the bookshop." She looked every bit as alarmed to see Quinn as she was to see the diminutive brunette. "Forgive my loss of manners, Miss Fabray—I mean, Your Grace. I had no idea of who you were."

"Why would you?" Finn interjected brightly, looking closely at Rachel. "It's not as though any of us have met her before."

Quinn's expression didn't change. Was it just her imagination or did her brother take every opportunity to slight her? She couldn't blame Finn for resenting her, but it wasn't as though Quinn had asked to be her father's heir. She would be happy to still be a secret if it wasn't for the fact that the money would set her home, and especially her people, back on their feet.

"And why is it that the two of you have never met before, Miss Fabray?" Mrs. Berry asked. Her tone was deceptively innocent, but Quinn didn't miss the sly glance she cast her brother. What the devil was going on?

Rachel's gaze dropped to the floor. Her cheeks flushed a dark red. She was obviously embarrassed by her mother's behavior, and Quinn's resentment of the woman grew. She knew what the older woman was getting at. She was questioning the validity of Quinn's parents' marriage, and therefore questioning the legitimacy of her birth! It was perhaps the biggest insult the woman could bestow upon her—upon anyone.

Angered beyond belief, Quinn held the woman's haughty gaze, clenching her jaw against the desire to put her soundly in her place. She sucked a deep breath between her grinding teeth.

"Because in accordance with Fabray tradition, ma'am, the title passed through my mother to me. In such cases, the heir takes Fabray as his or her surname to keep the name alive." She smiled coldly as Mrs. Berry's confident expression faded.

"And, incidentally, I'm not a 'miss.' Even without my father's title I am the Countess of Keir. You may address me by either title. I have several lesser ones as well, Viscountess Dunkirk, Baroness Kyne. You may take your pick." She had tried to keep her tone light, but she couldn't keep a note of condescension from creeping in. How dare this woman question her birth or her rank! And how dare she insult the memory of Quinn's mother by doing so.

Shelby Berry's face paled. She dipped a small curtsy in the blonde's direction. "I beg your pardon, my lady."

Quinn nodded in acknowledgement of her apology. She believed the brunette to be sincere. Of course she would be sorry to insult a peer of the realm. Quinn had found that many people in England went out of their way to please someone with a title. Part of her liked all the bowing and scraping from the English, ordinarily so disdainful of the Scots. Another part of her found it embarrassing.

She turned her attention to Rachel, who still looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Thank you so much for your suggestion, Miss Berry. I am quite enjoying the book—even though I haven't had the opportunity to read much of it in the last few hours."

Rachel's head came up and her dark eyes seemed unnaturally large in her face. She wasn't as pale as most English girls, being a true brunette and of Jewish ancestry, and a delicate blush turned her complexion a marvelous mixture of honey and roses.

And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes…

"I'm glad you're enjoying it, Your Grace." Her voice was soft and clear, just how Quinn remembered it. Just the sound of it sent a shiver down her spine. She would like to hear the brunette read some of Byron's poetry aloud.

"I am," she replied, staring deep into Rachel's eyes. "Every poem makes me think of beauty."

Rachel's blush deepened, and Quinn knew that the beautiful brunette remembered the blonde telling her that she would think of her whenever she read the book.

"What book is this?" Finn demanded, not quite succeeding in keeping his tone light. His intense gaze fell upon Rachel. A stab of guilt mixed with regret hit Quinn in the stomach. She had no business flirting with Rachel as she had been. Rachel was her brother's betrothed. Quinn had no business evening thinking about Rachel as she did, but the blonde couldn't help what she though, just as she couldn't act upon it. Rachel was out of her reach, and she would do well to remember that.

"Miss Berry recommended I try your poet Byron, brother." Calling the younger man by such a familiar term felt odd, especially since she believed Finn despised her thoroughly. "I must admit to being completely enthralled by his poetry."

Mrs. Berry gasped and Finn's jaw tightened. They both stared at Rachel as though she had committed a heinous crime. Instantly, Quinn regretted having said a word.

"Rachel!" her mother chastised. "Tell me you haven't been reading such filth!"

So not only did Rachel's mother question her birth, but now she questioned Quinn's morals through her reading material? Filth? To be sure, Byron could be a little naughty in his work. He was also incredibly passionate, and Quinn would hardly call such genius filth.

"Calm yourself, Mrs. Berry," Finn advised, taking Rachel's hand. "'Tis no serious offense. Although Byron is hardly proper fare for an unmarried girl, Rachel will be able to read whatever she wants—provided it's not too shocking—once we're married."

The reminder that her brother—her unlikable, undeserving brother—was going to marry this radiant girl made Quinn's blood boil. No doubt Finn believed he was doing Rachel and her family a great service by bestowing his magnificence upon them.

"And who will decide what is too shocking and what isn't?" Quinn asked with false humor. The gall! As if Rachel hadn't enough intelligence to choose her own books! The very idea of it was foolish. Unfortunately, there were many people—women included—who believed that certain novels and poetry could damage a young girl's delicate mind.

Finn smiled, but his eyes were filled with malice. Could no one else see it? Or was Quinn's guilty conscience simply running away with her?

"I will, of course," he replied, as though he thought the answer was obvious. "I think a husband might safely choose his wife's reading material."

"Quite right," Mrs. Berry agreed with a pleased smile.

Carole, who had remained silent throughout the entire conversation, fixed her son with an expression of disappointment. "Your father never dictated what I could and could not read, Finn."

The young man had the grace to look duly chastised, and Rachel, who had seemed to retreat into her own little world out of shame and humiliation, appeared strengthened by her future mother-in-law's words.

With a defiant lift of her chin, Rachel pulled her hand free of Finn's. "Thank you, Your Grace. I believe I will expect the same courtesy and trust from my spouse." Her voice quivered as she spoke, as though speaking her mind in front of Finn was not something she usually did. She didn't even look at her fiancé.

Quinn wanted to applaud her show of backbone, but wisely kept her mouth shut as Finn scowled at the brunette's announcement. Mrs. Berry, her face ruddy, opened her mouth to respond.

"Let's go in to dinner, shall we?" the dowager duchess spoke, cutting off anything the other woman might have said.

Carole came up to Quinn, her eyes sparkling with emotion. She didn't approve of Mrs. Berry's actions—or Finn's for that matter—Quinn could tell, but there was sadness in her gaze as well. She missed her husband very much, and Quinn was instantly contrite for contributing to the scene with Finn, Rachel, and her mother. Mr. Berry had seemed blissfully unaware of the tension. Of course, the thin man had seemed to doze through most of it.

"Will you escort me, Quinn?"

Quinn smiled. "I would be honored." It wasn't as though Carole had singled her out—the two people of highest rank always walked in to dinner together, but Quinn felt as though the grieving woman had chosen her. A little voice inside her told Quinn she reminded the other woman of her father, and although the comparison chafed, she realized that Carole had meant it as a compliment.

What wasn't so easy to accept was being expected to take her father's place at the table. Finn didn't look very happy about it either. No doubt he was used to having the head of the table as his seat since their father's death. He could keep it for all Quinn cared.

"Finn," she said softly, standing beside the high-backed oak chair. "I believe this is usually your seat. I would be happy to sit elsewhere if you wish."

Surprise lit her brother's features, followed by a bitter twist of his mouth. "Thank you, Quinn," he replied, his tone one of gentlemanly blandness. "But as head of the family it is your seat for now."

The slight emphasis on for now set off an alarm inside Quinn's head. Finn saw her as an intruder, as a fraud, and he was going to try to prove it. The idea formed with such clarity in Quinn's mind that she was stunned by it. That's why Rachel was so embarrassed for her, why her mother had been so catty. They all thought she was a bastard and were just waiting for Finn to uncover the truth!

Seating herself, Quinn tried to school her features into a cool mask as her gaze traveled over those seated before her. She couldn't believe Carole or Brittany capable of any kind of deception, nor could she bring herself to believe it of Rachel. She could, however, well believe it of her brother and Rachel's mother, while her father Quinn wasn't so certain of. Finn had spent his entire life expecting to be duke. It was understandable that he wouldn't give it up without a fight. As for Rachel's mother, well, she was a greedy woman, that was obvious. She no doubt preferred her daughter to be a duchess rather than the wife of a second born.

It was ridiculous, though! Perhaps she had been reading one too many novels or tales of fancy. She was losing her grip on reality. Finn and Mrs. Berry couldn't possibly be plotting against her. Could they? Did Finn care that much about some foolish title that he would ruin Quinn's reputation—and her life—just to claim it?

Yes. Everything in the way Finn behaved indicated that he was a young man accustomed to being a duke's son and had fully expected to inherit the title. Their father should have told him the truth a long time ago. It wasn't right.

Finn spoke quietly to Rachel, favoring her with a charming smile, no doubt in the hopes of winning her favor again.

Quinn wondered if Rachel loved Finn. Watching her now, the color still high in her smooth cheeks, Quinn believed she was still upset with Finn for announcing he would censor her reading material. The blonde couldn't blame her for being angry. Her brother was a complete idiot if he wanted to change a single thing about Rachel.

"So," Quinn began when it became apparent that no one else was going to start conversation. "When is the wedding?"

It was the last question she wanted an answer to, but it kept her mind focused. Quinn shouldn't be meditating on the allures of her brother's intended. She shouldn't begrudge her brother some happiness. She shouldn't be jealous over a girl she didn't even know.

Rachel ladled soup from a silver tureen into her bowl and didn't meet her gaze. "October." She smiled softly at Carole. "On the late duke's birthday," the brunette finished softly with a warm smile.

"That's October tenth," Finn informed Quinn, lifting his spoon. "In case you didn't know."

Quinn gritted her teeth at her brother's innocent expression. "Actually, I did know, thank you. I vaguely remember that my mother celebrated it alone after my father left us. She died shortly after." The minute the words left her mouth, she regretted them. She didn't want them to know how much pain her father's leaving had caused her mother, and she certainly didn't want to give them any more fodder against her.

Carole looked positively stricken. Quinn thought Finn and Mrs. Berry looked decidedly pleased. She hated the two of them in that moment. Her mother's suffering was not anything to smile over.

She glanced at Rachel. The brunette looked sad. Quinn didn't want the other girl to be sad for her.

"Perhaps Finn's wedding will make the date a happier occasion for you, Quinn," Brittany remarked in a hopeful tone.

Because she was so sweet, Quinn forced a smile. "No doubt you are right, Brittany." Right now she couldn't imagine feeling even a thimbleful of joy at the occasion. It was like Beauty being married off to the Beast, but all of Finn's ugliness was inside. Of course, there was always the chance that Rachel's beauty was merely skin-deep and that she and Finn deserved each other.

Rubbish.

"It must be wonderful to have found the perfect bride at your age," Quinn commented to Finn. "You can't be any more than what, eighteen?" She kept her voice bland, but she knew how old her brother was. He was almost exactly four years younger, having been born less than a year after their father married Carole. Not even a year after Quinn's mother was buried.

Her brother cast a warm smile in Rachel's direction. "Yes it is," he agreed as she blushed. "Some people never find the right one and are forced to marry someone they cannot abide for money or connections."

Quinn fought the urge to sneer. "I can't imagine what it would be like to meet the person I would want to spend the rest of my life with. I mean, knowing that you're going to be spending the next forty or fifty years with the same person…It's awe inspiring."

Finn smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yes, it is."

Rachel stared at her with an expression Quinn couldn't read. Had she insulted the brunette in her attempt to rankle her brother? That hadn't been her intention at all. Chastised, Quinn offered her what she hoped was an apologetic smile. Rachel smiled back.

"When I marry I want it to be to someone with whom I can spend the rest of my life," Brittany announced. "I refuse to settle for anything less."

Quinn smiled at Brittany's youthful conviction, despite the tension at the table. "I have no doubt you will find someone to love you for the rest of their lucky life, Brittany."

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Finn made a scoffing noise. "Marriages of the ton are built on more than such a silly notion as love."

"Oh?" Quinn cocked a brow. Hadn't her brother waxed about the merit of wedding his perfect match not even five minutes ago? "What else are they based on?"

"Yes, Finn," Rachel rejoined quietly with a lift of her sharp little chin. "What else?"

"Respectability, connections, common interests, blood, and wealth of course," Finn replied, sticking his spoon in his soup. "Obviously affection is important in a marriage, but good bloodlines are just as important. You want to know what you're getting into."

The poor sod didn't even know he was digging a hole for himself, Quinn realized. She couldn't figure out if she envied or pitied her brother being brought up to believe himself always right. It must have been their father who had taught him such arrogance. Carole certainly hadn't.

Quinn sipped her wine. "Sounds more like a business arrangement than a marriage."

Finn's brows drew together. "My father taught me that the most successful people treat their life like a business arrangement."

"His public life, maybe," Carole interjected, "but your father never treated his family like a 'business arrangement.'"

Quinn longed to correct her, but remained silent. What had she been if not the result of such an arrangement gone wrong?

Finn ignored his mother. "He also taught me that someone who is ruled by their emotions is a fool."

"Did he?" Quinn inquired coolly, taking another drink of her wine.

"Yes. He did."

Quinn met Finn's challenging gaze. "Then how fortunate I consider myself that he taught me nothing."

The air fairly crackled with tension as they stared each other down.

"Roast pheasant, Your Grace?"

Quinn glanced at the platter Rachel held directly under her nose. It wasn't subtle, but the brunette had managed to end the standoff between the siblings.

"Thank you, Miss Berry." The footman had taken her soup bowl, so Quinn took the platter and helped herself to some of the tender meat.

"And how are you enjoying London?" Rachel asked once the blonde had passed the platter to Brittany.

With an inward sigh, Quinn allowed herself to be led into meaningless, polite conversation. By the time the dinner was over she was heartily sick of the sound of her own voice, but she was entirely grateful to Rachel for putting an end to her embarrassing behavior. Quinn should know better than to allow her brother to get to her. There was no excuse for rude or inconsiderate behavior, and Quinn's remarks about her father were certainly inconsiderate in regard to Carole and Brittany.

After dinner, the entire party retired to the drawing room. Finn wasn't interested in drinking port and Mr. Berry didn't seem to care either way, so the gentlemen followed the ladies to the blue drawing room where Brittany and Rachel entertained them at the pianoforte.

Brittany played beautifully and Rachel had a lovely singing voice. A dim memory of her father singing to her and bouncing her on his lap drifted into Quinn's mind, seizing her heart with icy tentacles. Why had she never remembered it before?

When the two girls had finished, everyone applauded politely.

"Do you play, Quinn?" Carole asked from her seat beside the blonde. "We have no—what do you call them?—bagpipes, Mama," Finn joked. Mrs. Berry laughed.

A tight smile curved Quinn's lips. "No matter, brother. I play the piano just as well as the pipes."

"Not a very worthwhile occupation for a peer of the realm," Finn replied with false jocularity, folding his arms across his chest.

Carole fixed him with an admonishing gaze. "Your father played."

Finn flushed to the roots of his hair. The red of his cheeks was a sharp contrast to the bright white of his collar where it brushed his jaw.

Feeling sorry for her brother for being chastised so many times in one evening, Quinn attempted to draw the room's attention.

"My mother," she said with a wide grin, "taught me that a good Scot should be able to wield a sword with one hand and make music with the other—preferably at the same time."

The women laughed—even Mrs. Berry managed a smile. Mr. Berry was sound asleep on the sofa beside her, and Finn stared at Quinn with an expression that could be described only as snide superiority.

"What a charmingly barbaric notion!" he cried, his voice ringing with mocking laughter.

Shocked stillness descended over the room. Even Mrs. Berry looked surprised by the outburst. She squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa. Carole paled.

Brittany stared at the floor, and Rachel stared wide-eyed at her fiancé, but no one looked at Quinn except for Finn. Quinn held his gaze. If Finn sought to intimidate or humiliate her, he had chosen the wrong way to go about it. Her mother was a saint as far as Quinn as concerned, and insulting her didn't hurt Quinn, it just made her very, very angry.

She had had enough, and the resentment and animosity she had felt from and toward her brother all night exploded into an inferno of rage. How she managed to keep from strangling Finn, she would never know.

Rising to her feet, she seemed to tower over them all, drawing their hesitant gazes like a carriage accident.

She wanted to rage, wanted to drive her fist into her brother's face, but that would only prove herself a barbarian, not only in Finn's eyes, but possibly in Rachel's as well, and Quinn was determined to prove herself the better person.

"And one I learned well," she replied, smiling brightly in Finn's direction. "Would you care for a demonstration?"

Finn arched a haughty brow. "I'm afraid we're a little too civilized to have any swords in the house, but I would be happy to accompany you to a fencing gallery if you desire."

It was as close to a challenge as her brother could issue and still retain his tenuous hold on his gentlemanly façade.

Quinn accepted the dare with a cool smile and a slight incline of her head. "I would enjoy that." And she would. She would enjoy any opportunity to put this spoiled brat in his place. It was very hard to have any sympathy for her brother at all.

She held Finn's stony gaze, forcing the young man to look away first. Finn crossed the carpet to the liquor cabinet with his back stiff. He poured himself a glass of port.

Quinn turned to Carole, who stared at her with tears in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

What she was sorry for, Quinn had no idea. She bent down and took the older woman's hand, squeezing it with silent affection.

"'Tis I who should apologize," she replied, emotion bringing out the Scottish burr in her voice. "Forgive me. I shall take my leave now." She straightened and started for the door without a glance at anyone else. She didn't want to see how they regarded her. She especially didn't want to see Rachel's expression.

"You'll be here tomorrow, won't you, Quinn?" Brittany demanded urgently, as though her being there meant something to the taller blonde. "For the reading of the will?"

Quinn glanced from her sister to her brother, her countenance fading to a scowl. Finn looked entirely too sure of himself, as though he expected tomorrow to prove Quinn a fraud.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."


"What a rude, awful child," Mrs. Berry remarked as the carriage rolled down the lane. Mr. Berry was already snoring in the corner beside her.

Rachel, who was thankful finally to be leaving Brahm House, nodded in weary agreement. "Yes. Finn's behavior was inexcusably rude tonight." Her father snorted in his sleep, as though he agreed with her. Rachel smiled.

"Finn!" Her mother's voice hit a pitch just short of glass-shattering. "I meant that dreadful Scot! What could Carole have been thinking inviting that barbarian into her house?"

Rachel frowned. Barbarian was not the word to describe Quinn at all. "It's her house."

Her mother dismissed her with a wave of her bejeweled hand. "Rubbish. There's no way that creature is the Duchess of Brahm."

Pressing her hands to her eyes, Rachel fought the headache brewing behind them. "She is the duchess. Her father acknowledged her, the solicitor was sent for her. She is in the will, and she looks just like her father. What more proof do you need?"

Her mother's eyes narrowed. "You're too young to know about such things, but just because she's Brahm's child doesn't mean she's the legitimate heir. We discussed this earlier, don't you recall? I wouldn't be surprised if Finn discovered this Fabray character was born on the wrong side of the blanket."

Rachel was very tired of all this drama. What difference did it make? Let Quinn have her title. After all, it wasn't as if she had had the benefit of knowing her father.

"They were married, Mama. I'm sure a copy of Qui…the duchess' birth certificate will prove she was born after their marriage."

"Ah! But if they were married in Scotland in one of those foolish 'over the anvil' ceremonies, there's a very good chance the marriage wasn't legitimate!" Shelby smiled smugly.

Rachel hated her mother in that moment. Hated her right down to her bones for trying to ruin this young woman's life.

"What difference does it make to you whether or not she's legitimate?" But as soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer. "This isn't about Quinn or Finn. This is about you."

Her mother made a show of studying her rings.

Spurred by anger, Rachel leaned forward. In the dim light of the carriage, her mother's features were almost entirely in shadow.

"You want so badly to have a duke in the family that you don't care about anything else. You don't care if you ruin a young woman's life, and you certainly don't care whether or not your son-in-law loves your only daughter. You just want your precious title, and you're afraid I'm engaged to the wrong person!"

Shelby's hand came up and swung. Rachel caught her by the wrist, bringing a surprised gasp to her mother's lips.

"Strike me and you will have to find another way to get your duke because I won't be marrying anyone." Rachel couldn't believe how she was talking to her mother! It was as though someone else had snuck into her body while she wasn't looking. For that matter, ever since Rachel had agreed to marry Finn, her mother had been acting like a different person as well.

Shelby jerked her hand free with a glare. "You'll marry whom I tell you to or you'll be thrown out without a cent!" Her threat was softened by the tremble in her voice. She was scared. Scared of what?

Now it was Rachel's turn to be smug. "Papa would never allow it and you know it. Don't threaten me, Mama. I don't like it."

"You're an ungrateful child," Shelby retorted.

"Yes," Rachel agreed sarcastically as she leaned back against the velvet squabs. "I'm such an awful daughter for not allowing you to treat me like one of your lapdogs. Actually, I think you treat your dogs with more affection and respect."

Her mother regarded her with a hurt expression. "What is the matter with you? Can you not see that I want what's best for you?"

An unladylike snort broke forth from Rachel's lips. "I'm sure you do."

"Of course I do!" her mother snapped. "I'm not entirely without feeling, you know, no matter what you might think."

Rachel raised a brow but said nothing. No, she knew there was goodness in her mother, but lately all she had seen was greed and calculation. She didn't like it.

Sighing, her mother slumped back in her seat, not caring that she now held her sleeping husband's arm pinned between herself and the cushions.

"Do you not understand that I want a better life for you than what I had?"

What? "A better life?" Rachel echoed incredulously. "What was wrong with your life? You have money, a good husband—"

"Before your father made his fortune we lived in two rooms above his office. Sometimes I worried that we might lose everything and end up in debtor's prison. I don't ever want you to have to worry about money or position," Shelby explained despondently.

Softened, Rachel reached across and took her mother's hand. "Don't you want me to be happy as well?"

Shelby snatched back her hand. "I think I'd rather see you miserable and rich than happy and poor. Happiness does not put food in your belly."

"Or rings on my fingers," Rachel sneered, feeling her mother's rejection as keenly as a knife in the ribs. "I'm not you, and no matter how hard you try, you cannot fix your past by dictating my future."

With a stubborn lift of her chin, Shelby stared out the carriage window. There might have been tears glistening in her eyes, but Rachel couldn't be certain—and to be honest, she didn't want to know. "I can certainly try. And I can make certain you don't make the same mistakes I did."

"Yes," Rachel agree, her jaw clenched. "May the good Lord forbid I turn out like you."

Her mother recoiled as if slapped. "Have I been that horrible a mother to you?"

Sighing, Rachel massaged her temples. What had started as a minor discomfort had blossomed into throbbing pain.

"No," she replied. There was a time when her mother had been her best friend, but that had been years ago, long before Rachel had become a marketable commodity as a bride, and long before her mother had become completely dissatisfied with her own life. Perhaps if her father hadn't been in trade, her mother would have been happier with her life. Perhaps if he had been a lazy landowner who threw lavish parties and spent his autumns in the country hiding to hounds with other bored rich men, her mother wouldn't have to work so hard for those connections she seemed to hold so dear.

But her father wasn't a landowner. He was wealthy, but he was a city merchant. He might be a little embarrassing socially—especially since he had the unfortunate habit of falling asleep wherever they went—but that was only because he worked such long hours so Rachel and her mother could have all the finery her mother claimed they needed.

Maybe the gowns and jewels were just a substitute. Could that be the reason why her mother had become so greedy? Were the rings and silks her idea of motherly affection? If they were, Rachel felt sorry for her mother. And for the first time in her life, she felt a little more than annoyed with her father.

Shelby folded her arms across her bosom, her mouth set mulishly. "I have only tried to act in your best interest."

"But you're not," Rachel informed her, a weary edge to her voice. "You're acting in your own best interest. Can't you see that?"

"How is wanting you to have money and security acting in my own best interest?" her mother asked with a scoff.

"Because you haven't asked me if I want money and security!" Rachel cried. "You haven't asked me what I want at all."

Shelby stomped her foot, causing the floor to vibrate under Rachel's slippers. Her father snorted from the corner. "Are you trying to tell me that you would rather be poor and a social outcast? You didn't seem averse to all the money and security at Almack's the other night!"

Almack's was the place to see and be seen in the upper ranks of London society. One had to be granted a voucher by one of the patronesses to even get in the door. It was every young girl's dream to dance at Almack's.

"Of course I'm not averse to them." Sighing, Rachel shook her head. "But there's more to life—more to marriage—than wealth and security. Don't you want me to marry someone I will love and be happy with?"

"You will be happy with Finn," her mother insisted. "And you will grow to love him. 'Tis a much better situation than marrying a man for love only to be disillusioned by the notion years later."

"Is that what happened to you?" Rachel asked softly.

Shelby averted her gaze. "Let's just say I had fanciful dreams in my youth as well—dreams that couldn't live up to a cruel and harsh reality."

Rachel glanced at her father. He was slumped against her mother's left side, snoring softly. Even their arguing couldn't wake him. He was a simple man, but Rachel couldn't imagine him ever being harsh or cruel. Of course, maybe if her husband would rather sleep than talk to her Rachel would be bitter too. But her parents had loved each other once, hadn't they? What had happened along the way?

"Perhaps Papa had dreams as well," she murmured.

Her mother turned back from the window. "Hm? Oh, yes, he did. Big dreams."

Her tone was so bitter that Rachel almost winced. "I'm sorry your life hasn't been what you expected, Mama, but you have to allow me the freedom to live my own life."

Shelby smiled at her. "You can live your life however you want to."

Dumbfounded, Rachel could only gape at her. "Really?" Was her mother finally ready to allow her to trust her own judgment?

"Really," her mother replied with a nod. "As soon as you're married. To Finn."


A/N: Cheese and crackers, just when you thought Shelby would have a change of heart, she reverts back to her usual self...Poor Rachel. Hmmm...Wonder how the reading of the will is going to go down, what with Finn's obvious jealousy over Quinn and everything...Guess we'll find out in Chapter 4! :D

So...to those of you who actually read these things, I'm curious. Apparently, there are a large number of Brittana shippers who absolutely hate Faberry and any story where both Faberry and Brittana are in it together. As an avid fan of both pairings, I don't really see what the problem is. Quinn and Rachel have some serious chemistry, and I think it's obvious. But anyway, my question is this. Is there a similar sort of aversion to Brittana in Faberry stories for Faberry shippers? Just something I was wondering the other day when I saw a bunch of people bitching about the presence of Faberry in dance-tilyou'redead's story The Best Trick (I personally was super excited about it, hehe). I mean, I've known there was such hostility toward Faberry with Brittana shippers, but it got me wondering if Faberry shippers feel the same way. If you feel like letting me know what you think, I'm all ears :) Totally no skin off my back if you're like "Oh, shut up, no one cares" haha :)

And with that, I'll shut up ;) I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and I'll be back with #4 soon! :)