A/N: Hi, everybody!
Just a quick note to say that I will not be updating next weekend because this coming week is Spring Break and I am going to Tennessee to visit my most favorite person ever, and I'll be studying most of my "free" time for a really important exam I have the week after Spring Break, so I won't be able to update again until the weekend of the 23rd. :)
Anonymous reviewers!
Guest (#1) -Thanks for the review! Lol, Finn does need a smackdown. We'll see if he gets it ;) Thanks for the input! I don't quite understand the animosity myself, lol, but I guess to each his/her own, right? :) Thanks again, and I hope you like this chapter!
Guest (#2) - Hi, Guest! :D Thanks for the review! I have seen Jane Eyre. We watched it in my British literature class my first year of college :) I haven't seen Downtown Abbey, although it looks really good and I've been meaning to watch it. And I've never heard of Mr. Selfridge. I love reading historical fiction (and nonfiction hehe), and I also love me a good period movie, like many of the adaptations of Jane Austen novels :) Anywho, I'm really glad that this story's setting and stuff are believable! Success! hehe :D I hope the rest of the story doesn't disappoint! :)
Jock - Thank you for the review! :) I'm so glad you're liking Quinn and her dynamic with Finn. You definitely nailed it on the head :) And, yes, I figured Quinn would be adult about the situation because Lord knows Finn is just a big ass baby about everything, so she would try not to upset Finn's relationship with Rachel. There also might be a bit of prejudice going on there too, but I think Quinn will quickly overlook Rachel's Englishness hehe ;) Yeah, don't you just love when pompous people get put in their place? It's satisfying lol ;) As for the Brittana vs Faberry thing, thanks for the input! Lol, your aversion to Brittana is like me with Klaine (and basically any hetero couple on Glee lol). I really don't like them. I don't like either of the characters separately that much anyway, and together, just...no thanks, lol. Which is why I will never read a Klaine story and never have them in any of my stories. And yeah, if they have a minimal presence, I'm cool with that, but not everywhere lol. Anywho, yeah, I agree. I mean, I ship both Brittana and Faberry, but I don't want one to dominate in a story that's labeled for the other couple. I don't mind equal portions or side stuff, but yeah, haha. Thanks again and I hope you like this chapter!
Joey -Thanks for the review! I hope the rest of the story doesn't disappoint! :D
anon - Thank you for the review! You're too kind *blushes* :D I'm so glad you are liking the story so much so far! I hope you enjoy the rest of it, too! :D
That's all I have for now; happy reading! :)
"Why are you here?"
Startled, Quinn whirled around. So much for sneaking into the reading of her father's will unnoticed. She had even asked Hummel, who was now the very essence of servile humility, not to announce her. She hadn't counted on any of the family wandering about.
At least she wasn't as late as she had feared she would be. It had taken her forever to decide what to wear—not that she had much to choose from. Quinn hadn't wanted to attend the reading looking like an unsophisticated Scottish barbarian. And she didn't. Dressed in a dove gray wool skirt and dark blue silk blouse with her hair half pinned up and half falling down her back, she looked like a lady; she was perfectly dressed and perfectly styled. Even Finn wouldn't be able to fault how she looked. Quinn didn't even want to think about why she should care what other people thought of her appearance.
Correction. What Rachel thought of her appearance—not that the brunette was likely to be there when they read Quinn's father's will.
"Good morning, Finn," she murmured, drawing back from the doorway so the rest of the family wouldn't see her. "I'm afraid I don't understand your question."
The young man's face tightened. "You heard me. Why are you here?"
A humorless smile curved Quinn's lips. "A little bald man came to Scotland and invited me. Said something about me being in the will."
If Finn's face became any stonier they would be able to stick him on top of the house and use him as a gargoyle.
"Yes, I know. That's why I want to know why you're here. We already expect you to take everything. Have you come to lord it over us? Do you plan to take your revenge on all of us and evict us into the street? Will you punish us all for how you feel my father treated you?
Quinn stared back at her brother in shock. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. How could Finn even think such a thing? Is it what he would do to Quinn were their roles reversed?
"I would never do that," she replied once she found her voice. "It is our father you're angry at, Finn. I'm angry at him too. We shouldn't take it out on each other."
Finn snorted. "What reason do you have to be angry? You will get everything—the title, the house, the money. You'll have it all."
Swallowing her pride, Quinn met her brother's wounded gaze with a frank one of her own. "I never had a father, and that would have meant more to me than any title or fortune. At least you had him."
Finn stared at Quinn as though she had sprouted a third eye. "And what good will having him do me now? All my life I have been groomed to be something I was never going to become, and he knew it! He knew you would be the heir and he never told me. Never!"
Such raw hurt and anger was painful to look upon. Quinn didn't know what to say.
"I want to ask a favor of you," Finn said after a moment's silence.
"Anything," Quinn replied and regretted the word as soon as it left her mouth. It was awful of her, but she still didn't quite trust her brother and she couldn't help thinking she was being set up.
Finn looked as though he had just bitted into something very bitter, so distasteful was his expression. "I would ask you to take care of my mother and Brittany in the event that I am not able to. I would hate for them to suffer any more than they already have."
And they'd all suffered because of me, Quinn thought grimly. They must all think her some kind of monster to believe she would toss them out into the street, but what did they know of her? Quinn was a stranger to them, and they were intelligent enough to know how she despised her father, so of course they would wonder if she would avenge herself on them.
"I will look after them." And she would. They were welcome to remain at Brahm House for as long as they wanted. It wasn't as though she had any use for the place, and she planned on returning to Glenshea as soon as she could.
Finn gave a sharp nod. "Good."
"But I'm certain you have nothing to worry about. I'm sure you have been well looked after." Quinn didn't know much about her father, but she knew that Carole, Brittany, and even Finn had loved the man—he wouldn't leave the family he had wanted without a penny.
Her brother didn't reply, just looked at her with a strange expression Quinn couldn't read. She couldn't shake the feeling that Finn was playing with her, that he was up to something. But before she could read any more into it, Finn turned his back to her.
Quinn's gaze followed her brother as he walked away until she became aware of the oddest sensation of being watched. She was.
Her heart flipped over in her chest as her gaze met Rachel's, and a shiver of awareness ran down her spine. Dark and frank, Rachel's eyes seemed to stare right into the very soul of Quinn. Does she like what she sees there? the blonde wondered. Quinn surely liked what she saw when she looked at Rachel.
She was dressed austerely today. Her glossy dark hair was pulled high up onto her head in a simple knot. She wore no jewelry and a gown of a blue silk so dark it was almost black. Her only adornment was the soft rose of her cheeks and a single lily pinned to her breast. She stole Quinn's breath, she looked so lovely.
Who would have thought that she would feel such excitement at the sight of an English girl? It should bother her that she was so attracted to the brunette, and the fact that it didn't filled Quinn with a sense of guilt. Her English blood was showing.
What was Rachel doing here? Other than the odd servant, and Mr. Chumley, there wasn't a person in the room who wasn't family. It was unlikely that brunette was named in the will. Quinn couldn't imagine Finn admitting to being vulnerable enough to want moral support, but as Finn's fiancé, whatever was written in her father's will would affect Rachel's future as well.
The truth be known, Quinn didn't expect to inherit any more than was required by law. As the heir, she would get the title and any houses, land, or money that went with it. She didn't imagine her father would leave her—the child he hadn't wanted—anything else voluntarily.
It was Quinn who looked away first. The scrutiny of Rachel's gaze made her blush and she didn't want the brunette to know what effect she had on her. Quinn didn't want this English girl to get under her skin as she did.
Purposefully Quinn seated herself away from the family. Alone, and off to the side, she reminded herself of just how much of an outsider she was. The feeling was uncomfortable to say the least, but she would do well to remember her place. Carole and Brittany had tried to make her feel welcome, a kindness that had touched her deeply, but whether or not she could trust their sentiment would be proven by the outcome of the will.
Carole glanced at her. Inclining her head, she smiled a little and Quinn could almost hear her unspoken question. Why was she sitting so far away? Understanding flickered across the older woman's features and her smile saddened, but she didn't appear hurt by Quinn's decision. She seemed…disappointed.
"If everyone is here, we will begin," Mr. Chumley said, his voice cutting through the hushed conversations humming about the room.
Quinn's gaze caught Rachel's again as the blonde turned toward the tiny solicitor, but she looked away before Quinn could even smile. A coil of unease unwound in her stomach. Rachel wouldn't be a duchess now because of her, and Quinn wondered if Rachel blamed her for it. Or was she just happy to be marrying the man she loved? Quinn found it hard to imagine anyone loving Finn, but, then again, she had yet to see her brother's good side—if he had one.
Quinn barely heard as Mr. Chumley began to read. The words from her father's hand seemed sad and full of regret, not what she had expected to hear at all. Phillip Pierce had always seemed so removed from her life that Quinn was surprised at the pity she felt. Her father hadn't even been fifty when he died—still a young man. He spoke of his wife, his children. And he spoke of Quinn.
"I ask my oldest child, Quinn, whom I have seen but once since leaving Scotland, not to think too harshly of me or to think that I ever forgot her. I have watched over her her entire life, and although she might not believe it, I have always been proud to call her my daughter."
A hard lump lodged in Quinn's throat. She felt the weighty stares upon her and lowered her head to hide the tears burning the backs of her eyes. She didn't want to know her father thought of her. What good did telling her now do? Where had her father been when she needed him?
Quinn let the anger wash the tears away. Her father would have done well to save his pretty words. Nothing could make up for his desertion of Quinn and her mother. Nothing at all.
"As my oldest child and heir, Quinn Fabray inherits the title of Duchess of Brahm and the property of Brahm House in London and Brahm Park in Derbyshire, and the smaller estate of Featherington Keep in Yorkshire. The incomes from both estates equal some one hundred thousand pounds per annum. I also bequeath to Quinn the sum of fifty thousand pounds, the exact amount given to me by her mother, Judith Fabray."
At the mention of her mother's name, Quinn's blood ran cold. Phillip Pierce had destroyed her and no amount of money or power could ever make up for that. But what did he mean, "given" to him by her mother? He had taken the money. Quinn's mother hadn't actually given it to him. Had she?
"I also ask my oldest child that she not hold the sins of her father against her stepmother and her brother and sister and that she look after them as she would if she had grown up with them."
Quinn braved a glance at Finn to catch his reaction. It was the same request he had made—except that their father had included Finn. The younger man was not impressed with his father's words. No doubt at eighteen, Finn believed himself more than capable of looking after himself and the family, as well as being a good spouse. Quinn herself was only four years older and didn't think she could possibly succeed at either task.
Mr. Chumley read through the rest of the will, which entailed money and a dowry for Brittany, a house and money for Carole, property and money for Finn, money for a few favorite and faithful servants—it was fairly standard.
There was also something for Rachel—a small painting that she apparently admired. Quinn's throat tightened when she heard the solicitor mention it. It was a painting of Loch Glenshea. Why had her father kept it all these years? Was it possible Quinn and her mother had meant something to him after all?
"The duke also left letters for some of you," Mr. Chumley said when the reading was finally over. He withdrew two thick folds of vellum from his satchel. He took one letter to Carole. The other he brought to Quinn.
Quinn stared at it as though it was crawling with maggots.
"He labored over this letter to you, Your Grace," Mr. Chumley informed her in that soft tone of his. "He was very hopeful that you would read it."
Slowly, Quinn's hand rose. Numb fingers took the letter from the solicitor's hand. The sheaves of paper trembled like leaves in the wind and Quinn crushed them to her lap so no one else could see how her hand shook. She didn't want it, and she most certainly didn't want to read it, but she would. She would because she wanted so desperately to think that her father cared for her, no matter that life had taught her differently.
A chair crashed to the floor and Quinn jerked her head up to see Finn storm from the room. Quinn leaped from her own chair, and tucking it in her small purse, hurried after her brother. Already she was assuming the role of head of the family.
Quinn wasn't sure what she was going to say. She didn't even know why Finn was so angry. Quinn had been so young when her mother died, she hadn't grieved for her as an adult, and she didn't grieve for her father at all—not in the traditional sense. She hadn't really known either of her parents. All she had were the fuzzy memories of a toddler. She felt loss for what might have been, or should have been, but she had no idea how it felt to lose someone who had been there to watch you grow up.
Finn might have gotten a head start, but Quinn's legs were faster and she caught up to her brother in the empty hallway that led to the servants' stairs.
"What do you want?" Finn demanded as he whirled around in midstomp.
"I thought you might want to talk," Quinn replied lamely. Truth was, she had been so intent on catching Finn that she hadn't given much thought as to what to do with her brother once she caught him.
"Huh," Finn jeered. "And what makes you think I would want to talk to you? You are the last person I want to talk to. If it wasn't for you, my life would be what it should have been."
"Meaning you would be the duke now." Quinn's tone was far from sympathetic as she lifted her gaze to the landscape paintings lining the walls. Lord, as much as she resented her father, even she hadn't been waiting for the old man to die!
"Meaning, you senseless lumbering oaf, that I would have been my father's oldest child, and that I wouldn't have spent my entire life wondering why he always seemed to be comparing me with some invisible rival."
Quinn's gaze shot back to her brother. "Invisible rival?" What the devil was he talking about?
"You," Finn sneered as he jabbed his finger in front of Quinn's chest. "Growing up, I could never figure out why I always felt as though I was competing for his affection. When he died, I went through his things to decide what to pack up and what to keep. I found letters. Letters written first by your mother and then by your grandmother telling every stupid little detail of your life."
Stunned, Quinn couldn't speak, couldn't even seem to think. All her life she had believed that her father had left Scotland and never looked back. He had stolen from her mother and left them there practically to starve. Her mother had written to him? Her grandmother?
"I-I don't understand."
Tears shimmered in Finn's brown eyes. "He might never have spoken about you, but you were always first in his heart. You took him from me and I will never forgive you for that." With that, he spun on his heel and bolted down the hall, running as though the hounds of hell were at his heels.
Quinn was dumbstruck. She couldn't believe what Finn had just told her. She had been first in their father's heart? How could Finn even think such foolishness? Finn had been the one who had had the benefit of knowing the man. Phillip Pierce hadn't even waited the correct mourning period for his first wife before marrying Carole and starting a family. How could Finn possibly think that Quinn had ever meant anything to their father?
But how could she explain the letters? Letters her own mother and grandmother had written. She could see her mother clinging to some small hope that her father might return, but not her grandmother. Her grandmother would have bothered with him at all unless she had wanted to, or unless she had promised her mother. Yes, that had to be it. She had promised Quinn's mother to write to her father, but it hadn't been because Phillip had wanted to know about her.
So why had he kept the letters?
Oh, this was madness! Throwing her hands up in exasperation, Quinn turned and strode back to the study, resolving not to give the matter another thought.
She had a letter of her own to read.
The first thing Rachel did when Quinn came back into the room was study her face and then her knuckles. No marks on either. Good. That meant that she and Finn hadn't come to fisticuffs. Not that she believed Quinn or Finn would stoop to such a level under normal circumstances, but emotion made people do desperate things, and she was relieved that whatever was going on between the siblings hadn't escalated to that point.
It didn't mean they hadn't hurt each other, though. Rachel could tell just by looking at Quinn that she was upset. The brunette didn't know the entire situation, but she was smart enough to deduce that as difficult as it was for Quinn to realize that the father she believed had deserted her had been thinking of her, it was perhaps even more so for Finn to grow up thinking he was the heir. Both of them must be very confused and hurt, and their mutual dislike made it all the worse. Of course, from what Rachel had seen, the gulf between the siblings was more of Finn's making than Quinn's. Not that Quinn wasn't capable of being just as churlish from what Rachel had observed.
"Did you speak to him?" she asked, approaching the blonde when she did not join the rest of the family.
Quinn's head snapped up. She had been staring at the unopened letter in her hands. Rachel couldn't help wondering what it said. How did a father explain missing out on his daughter's life?
"Yes," she replied in an absent tone. "We…talked."
"Would you like to talk about it?" She shouldn't get involved and she knew it, but she couldn't stop herself from asking. Rachel didn't know what it was about Quinn that drew her to her, but her concern for the blonde was stronger than any common sense she might possess.
Quinn's expression was dubious at best. The taller girl didn't trust her not to repeat their conversation to Finn. Why should she? Rachel was Finn's fiancé, after all.
"I promise that whatever you tell me will be kept in the strictest of confidence." She touched the blonde's sleeve. "I should like us to be friends."
Quinn stared at her hand so strangely that Rachel could almost feel the weight of her gaze. She was tempted to snatch the offending appendage away and hide it in the folds of her skirt. Instead, she withdrew it slowly, bringing it to her side, as Quinn's gaze followed.
She raised he gaze to Rachel's. The hazel depths were so open and searching that Rachel caught her breath. She had never met someone who needed a friend so badly. And how could she not? In England, Quinn was surrounded by strangers, no matter that the Pierces were her family. Rachel's heart broke for her.
"We cannot talk here," the blonde murmured, her gaze lighting on Carole and Brittany, both of whom watched them from across the room, their expressions worried. Quinn smiled reassuringly at them, as though they had been family for years rather than just a few days.
"Perhaps you would be so good as to escort me and my maid home since Finn is unable," the brunette suggested.
Quinn nodded, her smile fading as she turned to the shorter girl. "Yes, that would be good."
Trying to hide her disappointment at that lost smile, Rachel managed a tight one of her own. "I'll fetch my wrap."
She left Quinn standing there, holding her mysterious letter as she walked across the floor to where Carole and Brittany sat. Taking her light shawl and bonnet from the back of the settee, she bent down to kiss them both on the cheek.
"Her Grace has offered to see me home in Finn's absence," Rachel explained. "I will take my leave of you now, unless you wish me to stay."
Carole shook her head, catching Rachel's hand in her own. "There's no need for you to stay, my dear. I must apologize for Finn's behavior. He has taken his father's death so hard."
The tears in Carole's eyes proved that her son wasn't the only one having a hard time adjusting to life without the late duke.
"I think everyone in the family is having a hard time," Rachel replied meaningfully, squeezing the older woman's fingers.
Carole glanced at Quinn. "Yes," she agreed softly. "I hope they might both learn to forgive Phillip for what he has done."
"I'm sure they will." But Rachel wasn't sure at all if the two siblings could learn to forgive each other.
Sighing, Carole squeezed her hand. "He was a good and loving husband, and that is what I choose to remember about him. Not the secrets he kept from me."
A sad smile curved the older woman's lips as she met Rachel's sympathetic gaze. "I was angry when he finally told me the truth. But it seems like such a waste to be angry now that he's gone. Right now all I can feel is just deeply I miss him."
Rachel's throat was so tight she didn't trust herself to speak. Poor, poor Carole. What was it like to love someone so much that losing them left you feeling so empty that there was no room for anything else?
Releasing Carole's hand, she turned to Brittany. "I'll see you tomorrow night?"
Brittany nodded, smiling. "I look forward to it."
It wasn't entirely proper, as Brittany was in mourning for her father, but the late duke had declared on his deathbed that he didn't want the family running around in black for a year and acting as though they were all dead as well. As a compromise, the family agreed to dress in half mourning, wearing grays and browns and lavenders instead of black. Brittany had avoided balls and parties for the remainder of the London Season, but now that it was over, she had decided to honor her father's wishes and attend a few small gatherings. Tomorrow night was to be the first of such outings. Carole and Finn had even decided to attend, and Rachel and her mother would be there as well.
A footman came and handed her a package wrapped in brown paper.
"It's the painting," Carole told her. "I thought you might like to take it home with you."
Rachel smiled, her eyes hot with tears. She had been touched by the late duke's gift. She had always loved the painting of the dark blue lake surrounded by a riot of colorful trees and mountains.
She said her good-byes and draped her shawl around her shoulders as Quinn came to meet her.
The blonde placed light kisses on Brittany and Carole's cheeks. "I shall take my leave as well."
"You will return later?" There was urgency in Carole's voice. Quinn nodded.
"And you will bring your things?" Again the near-panicked tone.
Quinn's smile was uncomfortable to say the least, but her eyes were warm with emotion. "If you wish."
"We wish," Brittany responded with what sounded like a sigh of relief.
With that settled, Quinn and Rachel left the room and walked down the corridor to the entrance hall where a footman gave Quinn her own shawl. Waving the footman aside, Quinn held the door for both Rachel and her maid, Jane, drawing a blush and a stuttered thank-you from the young maid with the blonde's gallantry.
They were silent until the front door closed behind them and they stepped out into the watery sunshine. It had rained yet again that morning and the sun had yet to dry the shimmering drops from the grass, or chase the puddles away. A cool breeze—the kind that always followed a summer rain—brushed against Rachel's face and she breathed it deep into her lungs, savoring the odor of sweet, damp earth and clean horses.
Drawing her cream-colored cashmere shawl tighter around her so it wouldn't fall, Rachel allowed Quinn to hand her up into the brightly painted open carriage before assisting Jane up as well. The front seat allowed just enough room for them to sit next to each other without being improper, but it also had a seat for Rachel's maid—close enough to them to be proper, but not close enough to hear their conversation.
With a flick of the reins, Quinn started the horses down the drive, their hooves striking the gravel with a lazy rhythm.
"Carole and Brittany seem very attached to you already," Rachel observed when Quinn made no move to speak first.
The blonde didn't look at her, and her loose hair blocked her eyes from view. "Yes. I suspect I remind them both of my father. I confess, the comparison gives me little joy, but I am glad to bring them some pleasure in what has to be a very painful time."
Rachel studied her intently, realizing with a bit of surprise that she was being completely sincere and honest—something she wasn't used to in people of her class. The aristocracy always seemed to hide behind a façade of politeness and say all the proper words and sentiments while often thinking something completely different. Allowing someone to see your true feelings was seen as setting oneself up to be ridiculed.
"You're a good person, Your Grace," Rachel told her, her voice soft.
Quinn didn't look at her, but her cheeks turned pink. "I try to be."
"What a rarity you are." And she meant it.
"I don't think I'm so very rare," the blonde said self-consciously as a footman opened the gate for them. Expertly, she guided the horses and carriage out into the street. "Aren't you a good person? Isn't Finn?"
"Finn is very proper," Rachel replied, watching as other carriages rolled past. She loved the sound the horses' hooves made against the cobblestones. "Sometimes I think people become so obsessed with giving the appearance of being good that they forget what it really means to be a good person."
Quinn looked at her, her expression one of amusement. "I can't imagine you being so caught up in appearances. After all, you gave up the book you wanted to a stranger in a bookshop."
Warmth flooded Rachel's stomach at the thought of their first meeting. "I have never held a door open for a servant," she admitted even though it shamed her.
A grin lit the blonde's features, softening her face and brightening her eyes, which were a clear, vivid green in the sunlight. "You're right. You're an awful person. I can't imagine why Finn is marrying you—your beauty aside."
"Yes," Rachel replied, her tone a mixture of the lightness she wanted to project at Quinn's compliment and the sudden bitterness that engulfed her. "But my mother was beautiful once as well. Finn is taking a great risk by marrying me, especially if I inherit my mother's peerless manner."
Quinn faltered—ever so slightly, but Rachel saw it. The blonde had heard the doubt in her voice, of that Rachel was certain. Truth be told, the brunette probably shouldn't be talking to the other girl about her personal affairs at all. It was unseemly, but she didn't care. It felt good to talk about it.
"He's brave because he adores you," Quinn replied, her gaze fixed on the traffic in front of them.
Rachel wondered if she deliberately substituted "adores" for "loves". There were times when even she didn't know the true depths of Finn's affections. Being a gentleman, mindful of her "maidenly sensibilities," he showed great restraint in expressing his own more passionate emotions.
"I have no doubt that Finn has some affection for me, Your Grace." She stared at the passing perfection of Devonshire House, rather than look at the girl next to her. "We get along fairly well, but sometimes I wonder if Finn is marrying me or my father's business. I have no idea if he adores me as you claim."
"He should."
The sun disappeared behind a cloud as Quinn spoke, adding to the shiver that raced down Rachel's spine. Quinn was right. Finn should adore her. He should love her. Just as she should love him.
"Do you doubt your decision to marry him?" Quinn inquired seriously.
Rachel's spine stiffened? Had the blonde read her mind? "That is none of your business, Your Grace."
"Stop calling me that!" Quinn snapped, startling Rachel. "My name is Quinn. If you can't bring yourself to call your future sister-in-law by her Christian name in private, then perhaps you could call me Lady Keir, but for the love of God, don't call me by his title!"
Rachel stared at her, her mouth agape. Anger had made Quinn lose control of the horses, causing them to speed up at an alarming rate. Clinging to the side of the seat with one hand and to her bonnet with the other, Rachel braced herself.
Just as suddenly, the horses slowed again. She glanced at Quinn. Her jaw was still tight, but her shoulders had relaxed somewhat and she once again had the horses under control. She muttered an apology.
"But it is my business," Quinn continued as the brunette also relaxed. "As much as I would hate to see you trapped in a loveless marriage, I would hate even more seeing you love someone who does not love you. My mother loved someone who did not love her, Rachel, and it destroyed her."
Quinn's wounded anger washed over Rachel like a wave upon a stormy ocean. She didn't even care that Quinn was calling her by her first name. "And you still hate him for it, don't you?"
Quinn stared straight ahead. "I hate him for many things, and yet I cannot bring myself to despise him completely. Finn says he always felt like he was being compared with me growing up—an 'invisible rival,' he called me." She made a scoffing sound. "He says I have taken everything away from him. He doesn't understand that I would gladly trade the title for the chance to know my father. That's what I hate—the fact that even though the man left us with nothing, I still wanted—want—his approval."
Rachel's heart was breaking. She had wanted the blonde to open up to her, to trust her, but never had she imagined that her pain would run so deep. The fact that Quinn was sharing this with her was an honor she could not take lightly. But neither could she allow herself to read more into it than that Quinn needed a confidante.
It didn't make Rachel special.
"Perhaps once you read his letter you will feel better about things," Rachel suggested quietly.
Quinn shrugged. "Perhaps. Meanwhile, I have to move into a house with two women who want to love me and a young man determined to hate me." She sighed.
Trying to lighten the mood, Rachel quipped, "There are worse fates than having two women determined to love you, I imagine."
"Not if they're the wrong women," Quinn replied with a small smile.
Ignoring the pounding of her heart Quinn's expression inspired, Rachel made another attempt at humor. "According to most men, there are no right women. It is just a matter of finding the least wrong and making the best of it."
The blonde took her eyes from the road long enough to look at Rachel in surprise. "Where did you hear such nonsense?"
She blushed. "I overheard two gentlemen talking at a ball one night."
Quinn shook her head and glanced up at the sky. Rachel's gaze followed. It was going to rain again, blast it.
"They were idiots," the blonde told her. "I'm sure Finn thinks you are the right woman, regardless of what you might say, and I'm certain that there are at least a hundred other people out there who would agree."
Rachel laughed, touched by Quinn's insistence, even though she knew different. "I doubt you would be able to find one person in all of London who would take me for a bride without my fortune, Your—Quinn."
The blonde's expression was suddenly very serious. "I'm certain I could find at least one."
The implication of her words was slow to sink in, but it set Rachel's heart pounding harder than it ever had in her life. Something about the way Quinn looked at her made it clear who that one person might be. Whatever this fascination, this feeling was, it was wrong. She was promised to Finn.
"There you go again," Rachel replied, fighting to keep her strangled tone light. "Being kind when you don't need to be."
Quinn didn't respond, but her expression grew shuttered, as though she realized that she had crossed a line.
They drove the rest of the way in silence. It was a fairly long drive, made even longer by the heavy traffic and the awkwardness between them. It began to rain just as the carriage pulled up to the door.
Stepping down, Quinn lifted her hand to Rachel to help her down. Their gazes locked as Rachel hesitantly placed her gloved hand in the blonde's. Even through the layer of fabric between them, Rachel could feel the heat and strength of Quinn's hand. This wasn't the hand of some pampered ton aristocrat. This was the hand of a woman who knew hard work. The realization sent a tremor of awareness through Rachel.
As she jumped to the ground, she miscalculated the distance and ended up landing practically on top of Quinn. Toe to toe, the only thing that kept their bodies from touching was the painting Rachel held tightly to her chest. As it was, her forearm was pressed heavily against the soft yet firm wall of Quinn's chest.
She stared at Quinn. Quinn stared her.
"Do you mind if I run inside, Miss Berry?"
The spell was broken. Turning to her maid, Rachel shook her head. "Go ahead, Jane."
The maid left them there, bobbing a quick curtsy to them both before running for the servants' entrance around the back.
"I should go in as well," Rachel murmured, trying vainly to break free of the blonde's mesmerizing gaze. What the devil was wrong with her? Rachel had never reacted this way to anyone in her life.
She tugged her hand free of Quinn's.
"I meant what I said," Quinn spoke as Rachel finally found the strength to turn away. "There are many people out there who would count themselves lucky to have someone like you."
Heat fill Rachel's cheeks, making the rain seem all the more chilly as the first drops struck her face.
"Thank you." She raised her gaze and there was that blunt trusting honesty of Quinn's again.
"But I sincerely doubt that any of them would deserve you. Not even one."
And with that the blonde climbed back onto her seat and easily steered the horses back down the lane as the rain began to fall in earnest.
Rachel stood on the steps and watched the carriage pull away. She barely felt the rain as it ran down her face, soaking through her shawl and gown. Not until the carriage and its driver were lost from sight did she realize she was standing in the rain like an idiot.
A guilty, tingly idiot who had no right to take such pleasure in the inappropriate remarks of a young woman who would someday be her sister-in-law.
A/N: Ooooo, looky who's subtly (or, not-so-subtly) telling Rachel that there are much better things out there than nasty Finn! ;) But...Did Quinn mean it? And will Quinn act on it any further? How is Rachel going to handle all the warm and gooey feelings Quinn evokes in her? We shall see in the next chapter! :D
Oh! And, don't forget to set your clocks ahead an hour Saturday night/Sunday morning for Daylight Savings! :D
I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and I'll be back with chapter 5 in a couple weeks! :)