A/N: Greetings, everyone! :)
Sorry this is a few days late. I got back from my awesome Spring Break and came down with a serious cold. It could not have come at a worse time, and I was like, "Ain't nobody got time for that!" lol. So, sorry guys. I just wasn't feeling up to writing a new chapter last week. But at least you didn't have to wait a whole extra week for an update! :)
Anywho, anonymous reviews!
jock - Happy belated birthday! I hope it was a good one :) Thanks so much for your review. I'm really glad you liked last chapter and the Faberry interaction :D There's more of that in this chapter, too, so I hope you like it! :) You're right on about Finn, too. It's like, you kind of want to feel sorry for him because he is grieving and such, but he's focusing on all the wrong things, so you can't really. Quinn is the one who was gypped here, not Finn so much. And don't worry. It will take some time, but Finn will definitely be getting his comeuppance ;) Thanks again for the review, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
anon - Thank you for the review! I'm glad (and sorry) that you can relate to what Quinn is feeling right now :) The contents of the letter will be revealed shortly :) Hahaha, definitely. Quinn just can't help herself where Rachel is concerned, and the same thing for Rachel :) Lol, yeah, I'm also glad this Rachel isn't blind to Finn's shortcomings as a human being ;) Thanks! I had a great Spring Break, and I definitely didn't want to go home afterward :) Thank you again for the review, and I hope you like this chapter :D
Dude - Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like this story so far :) And haha, don't worry, I'm not Ryan Murphy. Finn will answer for his behavior. Just have to be patient hehe ;) Thanks again and I hope you like the rest of the story! :)
That's all I have for now. Happy reading! :D
She was insane.
That was the only way Quinn could describe her behavior toward Rachel. Obviously she was out of her mind because that would be the only reason—the only reason—she would tell her brother's fiancé that she found her attractive.
It didn't matter that Quinn thought Rachel to be the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. It didn't matter that the brunette's kindness had touched her deep inside. Quinn shouldn't allow herself to become infatuated with her. It would lead only to heartache—and deepen the gulf between Finn and her.
The blonde didn't know if she and Finn could ever truly be siblings, but she didn't want to give her younger brother any more reason to dislike her—or add Rachel to the list of things she had "stolen" from him.
If Rachel wanted to be stolen, that was, and she had given Quinn no indication that she was the least bit attracted to her. Of course, Rachel hadn't given Quinn any indication that she was attracted to Finn either.
Regardless, it was still Finn's ring she wore on her finger and that was what mattered. Quinn had no business feeling the way she did when the shorter girl was around. She was going to have to get a grip on her emotions.
"More tea, Your Grace?"
Quinn's head snapped up. She had forgotten that she was at White's Café and not her rooms back home in Scotland.
"Please," she responded. Quinn had decided to see more of London, and she ended up at the only café in the city that serviced exclusively to women ranking in the upper echelons of London society. She had no issue being in the company of people of lower standing, but she was certain her presence would draw much attention, which she was desperate to avoid. She looked enough like the late duke, and she had been the subject of enough gossip and speculation, that anyone with eyes and ears would know who she was.
And everywhere she went, people seemed to know who Quinn was. London was a big city—much bigger than she had thought that first day when she told Rachel that they would meet again. It was only the social circle that was small, but that hadn't prevented every tradesman, every shopkeeper, from knowing who the blonde was. Quinn couldn't even cross the street without some acquaintance of her father's flagging her down.
Thoughts of her father reminded her of the letter in her coat pocket. She was terrified to read it, especially in public, but now that her belongings from the inn had been packed and sent to Brahm House, she had little choice. She couldn't read it at the house with all the servants and family there gauging her reaction, and being public place would force her to keep her emotions in check, for which she was much appreciative.
The wax seal on the letter was black, and Quinn could just barely make out the outline of a falcon in flight pressed within it. It had been her father's seal and now it was hers. Her life had been so drastically changed since learning of her father's death. It all still seemed so unreal.
With trembling fingers, Quinn broke the seal and unfolded the thick sheaf of paper. The handwriting was firm but shaky, indicating her father had been unwell when he wrote it. The date at the top revealed that it had been written the day before Philip Pierce had died.
My dear daughter—
How strange it seems to call you that after all these years, and how strange it must be for you to read it, but you are and always have been dear to me. That you are reading this letter means that I am dead, and I am sorry that I never had the strength or the chance to tell you the contents of this letter in person. I have missed out on so much of your life, been denied many of the joys of fatherhood, and yet I cannot blame anyone but myself.
"You've got that right," Quinn muttered, her tone less bitter than she had hoped. She raised her cup to her lips and drank. The tea was hot and weak, but it relieved the dryness in her throat and gave her a moment to combat the mixture of hope and anger mingling in her stomach. She must try to keep calm until she had read the entire letter.
Her father had obviously felt he owed her an explanation and Quinn would listen. She didn't know how much of it she would like or accept, but this trip to London had made the blonde realize that there was more to what happened between her parents than what she had perceived as a child. Perhaps that was why her grandmother had insisted that she come—to finally learn the truth. Quinn and her father both owed each other that.
I know I've no right to ask anything of you, but I beg you to look after Carole and the children for me. Finn and Brittany aren't that much younger than you, but they have been sheltered and spoiled their entire lives. You, on the other hand, I fear have not been sheltered and spoiled enough. For that, I am mostly to blame, but only because your mother insisted I take the money when I left.
Quinn's heart froze against her ribs. Her mother had given him the money? She had insisted that he take it? But that made no sense. Why would her mother do such a thing? Why would she let her husband leave her and give him money to do so? Why would she purposefully relegate herself, her child, and her people to borderline poverty while her husband made merry in another country?
I'll wager you never knew she gave me that money. I bet you thought I had stolen not only your mother's heart, but her fortune as well. Well, she gave me that money as freely as she gave me her proud and wild heart, and all I had to offer her was my absence and gratitude. When I inherited the dukedom, it was drowning in debt. I knew I could turn it around, make it profitable again if I could pay off the former duke's—my uncle's—bills. Your mother gave me the money and told me to go fulfill my destiny.
Quinn could scarce believe it. Her mother hadn't just given her husband her fortune, but she had practically packed his trunk for him as well! Why? If she had truly loved Philip that much, how could she just let him go?
How I loathed leaving you. You were my strong little wildflower, still unsteady on your feet but already showing signs of living up to your warrior heritage. There wasn't an English bone in your body except that you looked so much like me, and if the sketch your grandmother sent me last year is a valid likeness, then I'm pleased to see your looks haven't changed. Although you looked like me, your heart and soul were Scottish, and I couldn't take you away from that—even if your mother hadn't been so determined to keep you with her. I was angry, of course, that neither of you would be coming to England with me, but I soon realized that neither of you would have survived here. Society would have crushed your mother's spirit, would have gossiped behind her back, and you would have become one of those pale, withdrawn children beaten and tormented by others instead of the proud, beautiful young lady you are now. No, your mother was right in staying behind, but in my heart, I'll always wish she had come with me, for then we might have had more time together. As it was she hid her illness from me, never asking me to return, never allowing herself to be selfish. You may never forgive me for leaving you, Quinn, and I understand that, for I will never forgive Judith for leaving me.
Something inside Quinn screamed in protest, insisting that her father had been to blame, that everything—her mother's death, Quinn's own unhappiness—was all Philip Pierce's fault, but Quinn couldn't believe it anymore. She didn't understand why her mother had acted as she had. She supposed that her mother saw it as a great act of love, letting her husband go off to fulfill his destiny while she wasted away, but Quinn saw it as a great act of foolishness. She should have gone after Philip. He should have come back. But who was she to judge the actions of two people twenty years in the past?
But Quinn couldn't help being angry. Because of her mother's pride and her father's willingness to put up with it, she had never known her father and had barely known her mother. Quinn was so young when she died, she only had fuzzy memories of her mother, and even then she had been ill. Perhaps neither one of them had ever meant to hurt Quinn or each other, but it didn't change the fact that they had sacrificed their happiness just so her father could save the title.
As though that could ever compare with what they had lost.
And now the title was hers. It was a title she had despised only days before, but now she felt a certain kinship with it. Quinn had always known she would inherit her mother's family's title, there was nothing new in that, but her father's title was different. Her mother and father had both sacrificed so much—Quinn had been denied so much—so that her father could have the dukedom that it was only right it should go to Quinn now. It was hers by more right just birth. Everything in her life had led to this moment, to her becoming the Duchess of Brahm. And even as tears burned the backs of her eyes and tightened her throat, her heart swelled with fierce pride and love for those two foolish young people who had given so much for her to have such a legacy.
It was also so very difficult not to be angry at them both. Their pride had cost them so much. It had cost Quinn so much. How could she not harbor some resentment? Had no one given any thought to how this would affect her? She grew up not knowing her parents, and her grandmother had kept everything a secret from her, no doubt believing it to be for the best.
None of them had the right to decide her life like that. If she had known what had happened between her parents, Quinn might have had the opportunity to go to England, to know her father. But she had never been given the chance.
Blast it, someone should have told her.
She went back to the letter.
I had no idea how ill your mother was. Your grandmother wrote to me in London and I returned as fast as I could, riding nonstop, but I was too late. She was gone when I arrived. My heart was broken, I was numb with grief, and there you were, not quite understanding what was going on and you didn't even remember who I was at first. You cried when I tried to hold you, weeping for your mother with such heart-wrenching grief that it nearly killed me to hear it. Your grandmother was the only one who could soothe you, and I knew then that I had been gone too long and there was no place for me in your life. I had wanted to take you back to London with me, but that was impossible, so I left you with your grandmother and returned to London. I threw myself into work and society. Told myself I didn't care, that your mother hadn't truly loved me. Oh, Quinn, I was such a bitter man. I blamed myself for your mother's death, told myself she would have lived if I had only done one of several hundred things differently. I was so angry at both Judith and myself. I married Carole as punishment—who I was trying to punish, I'm no longer certain. I swore never to let my heart rule me again. But Carole was too sweet, too good, and she healed my wounds. I couldn't bring myself to tell her about you or your mother, not when Carole had given me so much. I couldn't tell her she had been a replacement for your mother, especially since I had come to love her so very much.
When Finn was born, it made me think of you and how much your birth meant to me. I started writing to your grandmother. I don't know why I was so scared to see you or why I wanted to keep you my little secret. I can only beg for you to forgive me as Carole has. My foolishness cost me not only your mother, but you as well, and I know how angry and bitter you must have felt toward me all these years. I have no doubt many of your villagers have painted me as the worst sort of villain. And no doubt, your fine grandmother let you draw your own conclusions. I'll wager she's sitting in Scotland right now, wondering if your heart has softened toward me, speculating your feelings, knowing that your coming to London will be what finally takes you from girl to woman.
Quinn chuckled at this. She couldn't stay angry at her grandmother for never telling her about her father. Lilian Fabray was a firm believer in every person choosing their own destiny, in making up their own mind, right or wrong. No doubt Quinn wouldn't have believed her even if she had told her that her father still cared, and no doubt she would have found a way to get a letter to the old man, and Lord only knew what awful things she might have said. Her grandmother had hidden things from her, but Quinn couldn't say that she had been entirely wrong to do so.
Know this, my dear, dear girl, that no matter what you think of me now, I hope one day you are as proud of your child as I am of you. You are as dear to me now as you were the first time I ever held you in my arms. I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for being a foolish, stupid man.
All my love,
your father,
Philip Pierce, Duke of Brahm
A tear slid down Quinn's cheek and she swiped at it with her sleeve before anyone could see it. She was already at the center of too much London gossip, she didn't want to fuel any more fires.
"Will there be anything else, Your Grace?" the waiter asked as he approached.
Not daring to look up for fear the man would see the dampness clinging to her eyelashes, Quinn stuffed the letter back into her purse and shook her head. "No, that will be all, thank you."
She swallowed the last mouthful of cold tea in her cut and left. Outside, the air was damp and Quinn was glad for the excuse to tuck her head down and wrap her shawl higher and tighter around herself. She didn't want to be recognized—didn't want any attention at all. She needed to be alone with her thoughts. And what thoughts!
Quinn couldn't believe that she had been so wrong about her father. She didn't even know whether or not she could assume the letter was the truth, but her grandmother would be able to verify its validity. If her father was being truthful, her grandmother may very well have kept things from her, but she wouldn't hesitate to tell the truth if asked, Quinn was certain of it.
Quinn walked the rest of the way back to Brahm House, her mind on her father and how this letter changed everything she had ever believed. It changed her relationship with Carole and Brittany and Finn.
And it had to change how she felt about Rachel. Quinn had already taken enough from her brother.
"It really is a disgrace."
Rachel tore her gaze away from Quinn as she danced with yet another giggling debutante and turned her attention to the woman on her right.
"What is a disgrace, Mama?"
Shelby thrust her chin in the direction of the dance floor. "That person trying to pass herself off as the Duchess of Brahm."
Rachel didn't look. She didn't want to see that foolish girl smiling up at Quinn as though she hung the moon in the sky. And she certainly didn't want to see the blonde smile back, just as she had smiled at every person, male and female, who threw themselves into her path that evening. It was really quite disgusting. Rachel was embarrassed for her, that's all it was. She certainly wasn't jealous.
Not at all.
Why should she care whom Quinn danced with? Rachel had danced twice with Finn and with several other handsome gentlemen. And she was certainly more graceful than Suzanne Markby. Poor Quinn's toes must be positively bruised from the foolish girl tramping all over them.
"She's not trying to pass herself off, Mama," she replied with some exasperation. "She is the duchess."
Shelby smiled. It was a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile and it made Rachel nervous. Her mother was up to something.
"Mama," Rachel said in a warning tone, "what are you up to?"
"Pooh, child. Why must you think the worst of me?"
"Begging pardon, Mama, but you normally deserve it." She lowered her voice. "I certainly hope you're not still questioning the duchess' birth. I think her father's will quite proves she is legitimate."
Her mother faced her with a slow, narrow-eyed smile. "My dear gel, it's not a question of whether or not she is legitimate."
Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. "Well that's—"
"It's whether or not she can prove it." Snapping open her fan, Shelby waved the delicate silk-covered sticks in front of her face with all the grace of a cow elephant.
The urge to bury her face in her hands and scream proved to be almost too much for Rachel, but she managed to keep herself under control.
"Why should it matter to you whether she is legitimate or not? She is nothing to you."
"Don't be stupid!" Shelby shot her a sharp glance. "It decides whether my daughter is the Duchess of Brahm or just plain Mrs. Pierce."
"It shouldn't matter if I'm either. It should only matter that I'm happy."
In an instant, Rachel's mother went from scowl to a deceptively sweet smile. "Are you saying you wouldn't be happy to be a duchess?"
"Not at the duchess' expense, no," Rachel replied truthfully. Of course she had dreamed of marrying a rich and attractive person. Didn't every young girl? But the older she became, the more she realized that love was more important than any title. She would rather marry someone poor who loved her than the richest person in all of England.
And that was why she was having these doubts about Finn. She didn't know how he felt about her.
She didn't know how she felt about him.
"What about poor Finn?" her mother demanded as though reading her thoughts. "Don't you care that this…this imposter has stolen his birthright from him?"
"Of course I care about Finn." Rachel sighed. "I think it was very wrong of his father to hide the duchess' existence from his family, but it cannot be changed. She cannot be erased and Finn cannot claim the title."
Again that secretive smile. "He can if his sister cannot prove that she was born within the laws of wedlock."
"Oh, you're impossible! I refuse to listen to any more of this nonsense!" Jumping to her feet, Rachel planned to get as far away from her mother as she possibly could.
"You're not leaving, I hope, Miss Berry?"
Mortified, Rachel met Quinn's amused gaze. Her stomach lurched at the sight of the blonde. Lord, but she hoped Quinn hadn't heard any of her conversation with her mother!
"Actually, I was just on my way to get some…uh…lemonade."
"I would be honored to fetch a glass for you."
Rachel shot her a look of pure panic. She must have made quite an impression because the blonde's hazel eyes sparkled with humor and her lips twitched as though she was trying to keep from smiling.
"Or perhaps I could escort you to the refreshment table?"
Rachel almost sagged in relief. Finally, she could escape her mother. Of course, good manners required she take her leave of her infuriating parent.
"Do you mind, Mama?"
Tight-lipped, Shelby shook her head, sending the feathers in her elaborate hairstyle bobbing in all directions. "Do not be long." She cast a hard look at Quinn. "Good evening, Your Grace."
She gave a slight curtsy. "Charmed as always, madam." If she was being sarcastic, Rachel couldn't tell. Straightening, Quinn offered the shorter girl her arm.
Her fingers were stiff from having been clenched into fists during her conversation with her mother, but Rachel laid them lightly on the blonde's arm and allowed her to lead the way across the floor to the refreshment room. Hopefully Quinn would never notice the warm dampness of her palm through the fabric of her gloves. What was this strange effect the taller girl had on her? Just being this close to Quinn made her oddly dizzy.
Rachel stood by the wall and waited while Quinn went for drinks. It was so much quieter in there than the ballroom, but then, they could run a herd of buffalo through the room and Rachel would still find it quiet without her mother's presence.
"Here you are." Quinn offered her a glass.
"Thank you." As she took it, their fingers brushed and even though they were both wearing gloves, a shock ran through Rachel's body. She jumped.
Quinn didn't seem to notice her bizarre behavior and for that Rachel was thankful. Surely she could at least pretend that she was unaffected by her.
Taking a sip of her lemonade, Rachel resolved to do just that—act normally. As the cool drink hit the back of her parched throat, she closed her eyes in pleasure at the tart sweetness. It was good—much better than the weak dishwater they called lemonade at Almack's.
"I don't believe I've told you how lovely you look this evening," Quinn remarked softly.
Rachel looked away, blushing under Quinn's scrutiny. The way the other girl was looking at her made her feel warm and breathless, as though Rachel had suddenly entered a very hot room.
She had taken extra pains with her appearance that night. She had chosen a simple, short-sleeved gown of rose silk with matching gloves and slippers. The high waist emphasized her bosom and the dusky color complemented her dark coloring. Her hair was gathered up on the crown of her head to fall in a mass of ringlets down her back. Her only jewelry was a strand of pearls around her neck and matching ear bobs.
Rachel had tried to convince herself that her desire to look nice had nothing to do with the fact that Quinn would be there, but she couldn't deny that she had wanted the other girl to see her at her best. Surely there was no harm in that, was there? It didn't mean anything—except to make her one of the vainest girls in all of London.
"Thank you," she replied, raising her gaze to Quinn's. "You look very beautiful as well."
And did she ever. She wore an elegant, evening gown with plain sleeves that framed her shoulders. Some women preferred gowns with added, protruding floral decorations, but Quinn's dress was simply a smooth, deep green that flowed across her body most becomingly and brought out the small green flecks in her bright eyes. Besides a pair of her own matching gloves, the only extra adornment that Rachel could see was a simple chain necklace with a single cross pendant lying just above her bosom. As always, she wore her blonde hair mostly loose, with half of it tied up, falling around her shoulders, some curls added in with the natural wave to her thick tresses. Rachel thought that the Empress Josephine couldn't have looked more beautiful.
"And I must thank you for coming to my rescue," Rachel added, hoping that Quinn didn't notice how breathless she sounded.
The blonde grinned. "Is that what it was? I must admit I had no idea I was performing such a service. You're most welcome."
She didn't pry, didn't ask why Rachel should need rescuing from her own mother, for which the brunette was grateful. She couldn't tell Quinn the truth and she didn't want to lie, so avoiding the subject altogether seemed the best course of action.
"Yes, but this lemonade won't last forever and then I must return." With a resigned sigh, Rachel raised her glass.
"There's no hurry," Quinn assured her. "Finish your drink and then we will dance."
She raised a brow. "Dance?"
Quinn smiled. "It's when you move your feet in various steps set to music. Surely you've done it before?"
Laughing at her teasing, Rachel nodded. "Once or twice, yes."
"Good. Then finish your lemonade and we'll dance and then we'll find something else to do so you won't have to face your mother until you're ready."
Rachel couldn't believe her ears. "You don't have to do that, Your Grace. I don't want you to feel responsible for me."
"I don't," the blonde replied bluntly. "But since Finn's off somewhere discussing business, I'll stand in his stead. And my name's Quinn, remember?"
Rachel felt an odd sense of disappointment at her words but smiled anyway. "Yes, I remember."
Quinn nodded at Rachel's cup. "Then drink up and we'll dance." As if to hurry her along, the blonde drained her glass in one gulp and gazed expectantly at Rachel.
"I can't drink that fast."
"Sure you can."
"No, I can't."
"Why?"
Smiling, Rachel shook her head. "Because it's not ladylike, that's why."
The glint in Quinn's eyes was teasing. "Do you always have to be a lady?"
How could she even ask such a thing? No young English lady would even think of such a question—she would already know the answer.
"Yes," she replied. "I do."
Sighing in exaggerated aggravation, Quinn plucked the glass from Rachel's hand, drained its contents, and set it and her own on the tray of a passing footman.
"There. Now we can dance."
Speechless, Rachel was caught somewhere between indignation and delight. "I can't believe you did that."
Leading her into the ballroom by the hand, Quinn smiled wickedly. "Neither can I."
"You had better be a good dancer," Rachel warned with good humor. "That lemonade was the best I have tasted in quite some time."
"I am an accomplished dancer. I would not have denied your refreshment if I did not think it worth your while."
Quinn was acting a fool, but her antics made Rachel happier than she had been in months. It wasn't until the music started up that her good mood faded.
"This is a waltz." Glancing around at the other guests, Rachel didn't know what to do. She had been given permission to waltz during her first Season, but she had danced it only with Finn. It was considered a scandalous dance because it required the partners to hold each other so close.
The idea of being that close to Quinn frightened her.
Quinn placed a hand on the small of her back. "So it is."
Her heart sped up at the blonde's soft touch. "Are you sure we should dance? Is it proper?"
Quinn must have heard the edge to her voice, because her smiled turned from one of joviality to warmth in seconds. "Rachel, we are soon to be related. As head of your fiancé's family, I don't think anyone will think it scandalous that we share one waltz."
When she put it that way, she made Rachel's reservations sound perfectly silly. Rachel acquiesced, and the two began to dance. It was just that society needed so little evidence to base a rumor on. She would not want anyone in her family or Finn's to be harmed because she and Quinn were having fun.
Finn. Her good spirits dipped even more. He should be the one she laughed and joked with. He should be the one waltzing with her. Instead, he had left her with her mother over an hour ago to go talk business with some "associates." He didn't even tell her what the business was.
"You shouldn't frown like that."
Quinn's voice jerked her back to the present. Suddenly, Rachel was very conscious of the warmth of Quinn's hand through her gown and the long fingers wrapped around her own. Rachel's hand fit so perfectly with hers. She felt so safe and strong next to the blonde. Rachel also enjoyed the fact that she didn't have to crane her neck uncomfortably to look into Quinn's eyes, unlike with Finn.
"Was I frowning? I beg your pardon."
Her hazel eyes were shining with concern. "Are you not enjoying the dance? We can stop…"
Rachel shook her head quickly. "No. You're a wonderful dancer, but then you already knew that. I'm just feeling a little jilted."
Quinn nodded in understanding. Rachel didn't want her to understand. She didn't want the blonde to realize that she was behaving as her fiancé should. Finn should be the one dancing with her. Finn should be the one sending shivers down her spine just by touching her. It certainly shouldn't be Finn's sister making her feel things she had never felt before.
"I'm sure Finn would rather be here dancing with you."
Rachel shrugged. Quinn didn't sound like she believed that any more than Rachel did.
Their dancing had taken them over by the balcony doors, and with a few expert twirls, Quinn had them outside in the cool night air, where the air smelled of flowers rather than sweat and perfume, and the music and voices were low and muted rather than in competition to be heard.
"We shouldn't be out here," Rachel protested. If anyone saw them, there would be a scandal.
"We'll stay in the light. We are perfectly visible from the ballroom," Quinn replied reassuringly.
Rachel doubted that. From where she stood, she could see the dancers as they twirled and dipped inside, but the light from the chandeliers made it almost impossible for anyone to see out into the darkness. She and Quinn were in plain sight, yet completely invisible.
Quinn stood before her, so poised and beautiful with just herself to compare the blonde with. Instinctively Rachel took a step back from her. Young women had been socially ruined by less than being alone in the dark with someone else. If anyone did find them, Rachel wanted there to be plenty of distance between them. It didn't matter that they weren't doing anything wrong. Society would still gossip, and Rachel did not want to be involved in a scandal with her fiancé's sister.
"If we're caught out here, they will say I tried to trap you into marriage. They will think I want you because you have the title now. They will say I planned to jilt Finn for you now that he won't inherit." With each assumption her voice grew in panic and pitch, because she didn't know if she would really mind the scandal.
Quinn's expression was a mixture of concern and amusement. "Are you?"
Rachel scowled. "Am I what?" Of course she could treat the whole situation as a joke. She was going back to Scotland soon. It's not like she would care if her reputation were ruined!
"Are you planning on jilting Finn for me?"
Her cheeks flamed. "Of course not!" But she couldn't say for certain that she was telling the truth. Oh! It was wrong of her even to think such a thing.
A sympathetic smiled curved Quinn's lips. "I know, and so does Finn. Honestly, Rachel, you're safe with me. Please, relax. I just have something I want to say to you and then you can go back inside before your mother misses you."
Rachel's heart sped up. "What do you want to tell me?"
"I'm sorry."
Her stomach fell. She wasn't sure what she had hoped to hear, but that wasn't it. Cursing herself for being such an idiot, Rachel frowned again. "For what?"
Quinn stared at her feet for a few seconds before raising her gaze to Rachel's own. "I know Finn resents me for inheriting the title," she said softly. "I know I ruined a great many of his plans, and I assume I probably ruined a few of yours as well. I have tried to apologize to him, but I don't know if he believed me. And now I want to apologize to you as well."
Rachel shook her head. "You want to apologize for ruining my plans? What plans?"
Clearing her throat, Quinn straightened her shoulders like a soldier being confronted by a superior officer. "I imagine you were looking forward to becoming a duchess and having the kind of life that entails. I'm sorry that my existence denies you that life."
A spark of anger flared low in Rachel's chest. "So, you're sorry I won't be a duchess?"
Quinn nodded. "Yes."
Hands on her hips, Rachel moved toward her, no longer caring if anyone found them out there alone or not. "Do you think the only reason I accepted Finn's proposal is so I would be a duchess?"
"Isn't it?"
"No!" She was close enough now that she could poke Quinn in the chest with her finger, but she didn't dare touch the blonde—not when she felt like punching her. "I can't believe you would think so ill of me."
"I don't." Quinn's voice was void of emotion. "But having a duchess for a daughter would make your mother very happy, wouldn't it?"
There was no point denying it. Rachel didn't care to defend her mother. She was too busy defending herself.
"Yes, it would make her very happy, but that's not why I'm marrying Finn," Rachel retorted.
"No? Why are you marrying Finn then?" the blonde demanded, folding her arms across her chest.
Rachel opened her mouth but nothing came out. She couldn't think of a single reason.
"Do you love him?"
Shock jolted Rachel like a bolt of lightning. "How I feel for Finn is none of your business!"
Quinn's expression went grim. "If you don't love my brother, then you shouldn't marry him."
Oh, that was it! "How dare you! What do you know of it? You wouldn't know love if it hit you on that thick head of yours!"
A muscled ticked in Quinn's jaw. "I think I know a bit more about it than you do."
Rachel snorted—a definitely unladylike sound. "Oh, do you? And what do you know?"
Quinn stepped closer, her face just as angry-looking as Rachel felt, but she wasn't terrified of the taller girl, not in the least.
"I know that Byron was right. I know that love should inspire passion and poetry," Quinn said heatedly.
Rachel shivered as Quinn leaned even closer, and it wasn't because of the breeze that whispered against the back of her neck. It wasn't right for them to be out here. She shouldn't be listening to his fiancé's sister talk about passion; it wasn't proper.
"Does Finn make you think of poetry, Rachel?"
Rachel sputtered in rage—not because Quinn was wrong, but because she was right! She was oh so right! Finn didn't make her think of passion or poetry, and the brunette was too ashamed to admit that to the one person who did make her tremble whenever she was near.
"You don't know anything!" Rachel was dangerously close to losing what little control she had left over her emotions. If she didn't get away from the blonde soon, Rachel would hit her, or burst into tears. She couldn't decide which was worse.
Tears. Tears would be worse.
Quinn's hands cupped her face. She tried to jerk away, but the blonde refused to let go, and held her so that she had no choice but to meet the blonde's gaze.
"But I do know, Rachel," Quinn told her, her voice suddenly little more than a whisper. "I know because 'all that's best of dark and bright' meet in your aspect and your eyes."
Rachel stared at her, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. How could Quinn tell her these things? How could Quinn quote Byron and make her feel so beautiful when she was supposed to marry the blonde's brother? And yet, at the same time, Rachel's heart thrilled at her words, because she had always dreamed that someone would feel that way about her—someone she could feel that way about in return.
Tentatively, the brunette reached up and placed her palm over Quinn's heart, and spoke the first line of the poem that came to mind. "'A heart whose love is innocent.'"
And then Quinn's lips were on hers and Quinn was too surprised to think of anything, let alone poetry. Warm and soft, the blonde's mouth moved against hers as though they were always meant to, making Rachel tense and tremble all at once. Finn's kisses had never been like this!
"We can't do this," Quinn groaned, pulling away after a breathless moment. Dazed and disappointed that she had stopped, Rachel could only stare at the other girl as she backed toward the balcony doors. Quinn's face was white in the pale moonlight and her guilty expression did more to break Rachel's heart than words ever could. She supposed she should feel guilty too for kissing her fiancé's sister, but she just couldn't.
"Quinn, wait!"
Pausing by the door, Quinn couldn't even look her in the eye. "I'm so sorry, Rachel."
"I'm not," she responded. And she wasn't.
But Quinn was already gone.
A/N: Ooooo, a Faberry kiss! But...a not-so-stellar ending to the kiss. Hmmmm...I wonder how Quinn is going to handle this? And for that matter, what about Rachel, now that she's had a taste of Quinn? And did anyone see them on the balcony? Find out next time! :)
*Important Note* As far as I know (and I'm no expert on British history), a cafe like the one Quinn went to did not exist in 1818. I made it up. I needed some place for Quinn to go to read the letter, but all of my Google searches for places that upper class women could hang out at were fruitless. So...I made it up. I know that cafes at this time were relegated to the lower classes, or like, authors and philosphers and such. Upper class women, such as Quinn, would not have frequented these places and spent pretty much all of their time at home. If she were a man, I would have had her go to her father's gentleman's club, but alas she is a female. So, I'm really sorry to anyone who was like, "This would never have happened in real life," but this little twist in reality just couldn't be avoided this time. I do hope you can forgive me. :) If it turns out that cafes such as this did in fact exist, then please ignore this note hehe. :)
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I'll be back with chapter 6 as soon as I can! Bye :D