FeverFantasy

The chapel bells played Ave Maria every evening at nine o’clock. It was the signal for the girls of Sacred Heart to spend a quiet half hour in personal reflection, repentance and prayer. After such, the girls were permitted a half hour of social intercourse with friends if they so wished but by ten o’clock, the girls of Sacred Heart must be abed.

As Rafe had never had much interest in repentance or prayer, she’d chosen to focus on personal reflection this evening. She’d removed every stitch of her clothing, and was busy surveying her image in the mirror in her room. She posed, she walked, she sat, she cupped her breasts, she tousled her hair. She cried.

Little girl. Ella, he called her. She’d liked the sound of that name coming from his lips, but understood that he’d only used it as part of a rake’s game. Chosen as an endearment, a personal form of address to get around her title. To decrease the distance rigidly enforced by societal positions. To develop intimacy. And it had succeeded.

She hated him. Hated him more than she had ever dreamed possible. Hated him for making her feel infantile, foolish and undesirable, when she’d found his masculinity so overwhelming, so disconcerting. In comparison to the other girls at Sacred Heart, her body was quite womanly, well-curved, tones and sensual. But she’d never seen a full grown woman nude. She didn’t know what the ton considered attractive. How could she compare?

Suddenly, she recalled the magazines Caroline received regularly from her sister. La Belle Assemblee was a ladies magazine which offered detailed fashion plates of the styles and ideals most coveted by the haute ton. That would do! She would peruse the plates, compare them to her own body, and have an answer. Damn the man for making Rafe Bennington feel insecure!

Swiftly, Rafe donned her nightdress, and rushed to her door. She peeped out carefully to be sure Abbey wasn’t in sight, then quickly slipped down the hall three doors, and into Caroline’s room. She burst into laughter when she discovered Caroline’s form of personal reflection varied little from her own. Caroline was sprawled on her bed, naked, studying herself in the mirror.

Caroline gasped. “Rafe, do you ever knock?” Rising hastily, she donned a wrapper. “Are they too small?” she asked, gazing at the slight curve of her breasts in the mirror.

“That, my dear friend is just the problem,” Rafe sighed, dropping into an armchair.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Rafe replied.

“Well, if you don’t know what the blasted problem is, how am I supposed to know? You’re the one who said there was a problem,” Caroline replied irritably.

“I mean, I don’t know if they’re too small. But mine are bigger,” she added smugly, and got a pillow in her face. “Caroline am I pretty?”

Caroline snorted, assessing her beautiful friend. “Rafe, you make us all envious. Your breasts are most definitely bigger. But it’s not just that. You have something.“ She shook her head, searching for the right words. “Something that makes you seem a bit more alive than the rest of us.”

“I don’t want to be more alive, Caroline! I want to be beautiful. Desirable. A woman.”

“What on earth has gotten into you?” This was a side of her friend she’d never seen, a doubting, vulnerable side.

“Where are your magazines?” Rafe asked evasively. “I’d like to look at the latest issues.”

Caroline grinned, as she tugged the two latest issues from beneath her plump mattress. “I have to hide them,” she explained. “Abbey confiscated the others. Of course she had to give me a lengthy and boring lecture on how the ton’s opinion means nothing compared to Madame Roussard’s finishing touches. Really! It’s not like I had obscene pictures or something, not like what Ellen brought back last break,” she complained.

Rafe grinned in response. Ellen had brought back some shocking inkings of a man and a woman, together in unusual positions, that she’d stolen from her brother. The girls had whispered over them so excitedly that Abbey had immediately seized upon their interest, confiscating the etchings with a reproving diatribe. “She probably just wanted them for herself,” Rafe remarked impishly.

“Abbey? Prim and proper, bespectacled Abbey?” Caroline rolled her eyes. The two girls perused the magazines in silence then, while Rafe mentally compared herself. Some of the fashions were shocking, low-bodiced, revealing. No wonder he’d found her infantile in her proper willow green muslin, with its high collar, and long sleeves! But in a dress like one of those! Off the shoulders, baring a scandalous amount of creamy shoulders and cleavage, designed to entice…designed to seduce. Rafe glanced down at herself, back at the fashion plate, then down again. Yes, she decided, her lime silk from Paris could be re-stitched. Anisette could do it beautifully.

Suddenly the door burst open. Both Rafe and Caroline rose to their feet immediately at the sight of Trina’s face.

“Trina! What is it? What happened?” Caroline cried, rushing to her side.

“Oh, it’s so t-t-terrible!” Trina said brokenly, gasping for breath between sobs. Her eyes were red, swollen and filled with tears.

“You’re not, you know, expecting are you?” Caroline asked nervously. All the girls knew Trina had been secretly meeting a man of late, and was deeply in love.

“That would be better!” Trina wailed.

“Trina, calm down. We can’t help you unless you tell us what happened,” Rafe said.

“The Marquis de Galle, he’s my g-g-guardian--”

“We know who he is,” Caroline interrupted disparagingly. Lousy in bed, she reminded herself.

“He came here t-today.”

“What?” Caroline shot a glance at Rafe, who shrugged as if to say, news to me.

“He’s t-taking me out of school,” Trina said.

“What? Why?” Rafe demanded.

“He’s f-found a husband for me. I wrote to him, you see. To tell him that I’d met the man I wanted to marry,” Trina sniffled, then her face brightened, “Shelley Pierce, the one I’ve told you about? Well he asked me to marry him, and I said yes. But I didn’t tell Shelley that I wrote to the Marquis asking for his blessing. Shelley wanted to elope, without telling anyone, but I felt my guardians should know. So, I told the Marquis about him, and the next I know, the Marquis comes rushing here t tell me he’s marrying me off to Lord T-Tuttleridge! As if I don’t even have a life! As if I’m nothing, just a piece of f-flotsam, lint to be d-dusted away!” Trina cried so upset that her stutter, usually controlled, was worsening by the moment.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. The cold, uncaring bastard! “He can’t just do that!”

“Of course he can, Rafe,” Caroline said. “He’s her guardian. He can do whatever he wants with her. He could sell her into bondage if he was so inclined,” she exaggerated. “She’s his property.”

“No, he can’t. I won’t let him,” Rafe vowed.

“Rafe, it’s the way things are. Some things must simply be accepted,” Caroline said flatly. “A woman is first the property of her father or guardian, then her husband. And should any of those die, she belongs to all other males in between.”

“I won’t accept it. He’s not going to force her into an arranged marriage when she’s already in love,” Rafe repeated stubbornly.

“Really?” Trina asked in a whisper. “You’ll stop him from m-marrying me off?”

“Don’t promise something you can’t do, Rafe,” Caroline warned sharply. “Don’t hurt Trina like that.”

“Oh, but Rafe, if you would just come home with me maybe you could t-talk him out of it,” Trina said excitedly. “I’m afraid to even talk to him. He’s so cold and aloof, the man gives me the sh-sh-shivers.”

Me too, Rafe thought dismally, but I’m quite certain they’re not the same kind. Calmly, she asked, “When?”

“I’m being sent home at Christmas, and the wedding is to take place on the N-New Year. Rafe, you could come home with me, and we’d have a full two weeks to try to talk him out of it. Please,“ Trina begged.

Caroline turned a speculative eye on Rafe. “You might just be able to do something. You know, since…well, what we talked about today,” she said meaningfully.

“What?” Trina asked curiously.

“Nothing.” Rafe shook her head. “Just that I have met your guardian before.”

“Oh, that’s perfect! Please, Rafe?”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Rafe replied after a moment’s hesitation. “Trina, if I think I can help I will. But I need to think about it.”

“Think hard,” Trina encouraged and hugged Rafe impulsively. “I need you, Rafe. If anybody can handle that monster, it’s you,” she said with complete confidence.

“I agree,” Caroline said thoughtfully, adding her vote of confidence as well.

Rafe nodded. It was just too bad she didn’t think so.

***
Twelve o’clock, the bells of Sacred Heart Chapel chimed. Three days to the Christmas holidays, and the L’Ecole de Sacre Coeur would empty out completely for three weeks. Those with families returned home for scintillating holiday parties, and returned inevitably with great tales for the Triple S. Those with families abroad, thus unreachable, went home with friends, or were temporarily stationed at the nearby convent.

Rafe had made her decision. She was going home with Trina. One way or another she was going to the estate of the Marquis de Galle. It filled her with a quiet trepidation, and she wondered for the dozenth time if she knew what she was doing. Absently, she watched Trina pace on the small terrace outside the library. The witching hour, or the hour of love. It was all in the eye of the beholder. And Trina was very, very much in love.

“Shelley,” Trina cried, as a tall slender form emerged from the dense shrubbery surrounding the terrace. At a nod from Trina, Rafe made herself scarce inside the library, leaving the two lovebirds alone. Rafe’s job was to keep watch while the lovers met, and sound an alarm if the Headmistress should wake.

“Trina, Trina, my love,” Shelley breathed, as he took her hands in his.

Trina hugged him tightly. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t get my message.”

“I’ll always come to you, my love. Even if you should try to send me away,” he vowed passionately.

“I would never send you way,” Trina whispered, her eyes shining. Shelley was her knight in shining armor, the prince of her dreams. Tall, slender, with a face that could only be called angelic, framed by blond curls. Dreamy blue eyes, always elegantly attired. A light touch, and never, never forceful with a woman.

“Your note hinted that something was wrong,” Shelley reminded, gently disengaging himself from her embrace.

“Oh, Shelley, it’s awful,” Trina exclaimed. “My guardian—“

“Who is that?” Shelley interrupted, pointing through the window to Rafe, who was engrossed in a book.

Trina forgot her train of thought for a moment, as she looked where he was pointing. “Oh that’s Rafe. Lady Rafaella Bennington,” she amended, proud of her beautiful friend. She didn’t notice the appraising look in Shelley’s eye as he pulled her back into his embrace, studying Rafe over her head all the while.

“With her looks she shouldn’t need a dowry to snare a good husband,” he observed, casually.

“She has both,” Trina offered. “She’s terribly wealthy, and the last of the Bennington line.”

“What? No siblings? No relatives?” He stroked her hair.

“None. Poor Rafe. She does wish she had sisters or brothers,” Trina replied, lost in the feel of him, the scent of him.

Poor Rafe indeed, Shelley thought. His attention was drawn back to the young woman he held in his arms. A pretty face, petite of form, innocent, and wealthy. She had quite artlessly told him about the dowry bequeathed upon her by the Marquis de Galle. A stupendous amount, really. Shelley glanced one last time at Rafe, the adage about a bird in the hand being worth two in the bush re-alerting him to his betrothed’s concerns. “What were you saying, my love? Forgive me for interrupting. I forget myself at times. God, how I’ve missed you!” he declared passionately.
As Trina told Shelley about the Marquis’ visit, Shelley felt exceedingly grateful for the dim light of the terrace. Damn the chit! He’d told her they should elope! But anger would accomplish nothing now, whereas tender words and caresses would. So he temporarily checked himself, and said all the things she needed to hear.

By the time he left that evening, or rather early in the morning, Trina was devoted to him, and completely willing to go along with his plans. If the Marquis still hadn’t relented by the eve before Christmas, Shelley would discreetly come to Land’s End, the Marquis’ estate in Lussex where Trina and Rafe were to be. They would elope while Rafe kept the Marquis occupied, and Gretna Green would witness one more private, and unsanctioned wedding.

“But my age, Shelley,” Trina said, with a worried frown. “Can’t the Marquis void the marriage because I am to young? Mustn’t I have his consent unless I’m eighteen?”

Shelley grimaced, wishing he’d thought to ask his brother. He really wasn’t that familiar with the law. Laws changed so much of late in England, it was nigh impossible to keep up unless one was a barrister. Better to play it safe, until he could confirm the law. “You’ve told me your friend is quite bold, Trina,” he observed, recalling Rafe. “Could she forge a letter from the Marquis and somehow manage to get his Seal?”

Trina’s eyes lit up. “It’s just the kind of thing she enjoys doing. I’ll ask her.” Longingly she added, “I’ll miss you Shelley.”

“As I will you, my love. I can barely tolerate the thought of all the days yet which separate us from being together, forever! I can’t imagine how I’ll live that long, Trina.” It elicited the expected giggle and blush. A quick kiss, a tender caress, and Shelley Pierce was gone, fading into the night as quietly as he’d come.

Trina stood on the terrace a long time before going in to rouse her trusted guard. How could the Marquis not see that she was old enough to know her own heart? To know true love when she found it? It was horribly unfair of him, to force her to elope when she really longed for a beautiful wedding with all the trimmings. But she knew her heart, and if the Marquis de Galle couldn’t be persuaded, then come Christmas Eve, it would be off to Gretna Green with her. And once she was Shelley’s wife, she wouldn’t need the Marquis anymore. She had dear friends, and she would have her cherished husband.

Distantly, it troubled her that she hadn’t told Shelley one nagging detail. But she consoled herself with the thought that they were s much in love that money wouldn’t mean anything anyway. Shelley, she was quite certain, would cherish her with or without a sizable dowry. For if she eloped, according to the papers she’d seen, there would be no dowry, there would be no inheritance. But what did money matter when one was in love?

After assisting a sleepy Rafe to bed, Trina skipped lightly down the halls of Sacred Heart to her room. Sleep came easily, as it does to babes and innocents.

***
“You are not going, and that’s final!” Abbey said.

Rafe rolled her eyes. “Abbey, you haven’t given me a single good reason,” she complained, not really upset because she still had one last card to play. “You just keep telling me no.”

“Because your father has not authorized it. Each time in the past you went somewhere for the holidays, you obtained permission in time. I can’t just send you off without it. And I won’t,” Abbey said sternly. “You should have thought of this before now, what wit it being only two days to the holiday break. Besides, “ Abbey sighed, taking a long look at the beautiful, pouting girl who sprawled in the chair across her desk, “I’m not so certain the Marquis de Galle is a fit chaperon for two young girls.”

“He’s Trina’s guardian,” Rafe protested.

“I’m not certain that’s fitting either,” Abbey retorted.

Rafe sighed deeply. She really didn’t like coercing people, particularly not those she trusted, and had grown to love, as she had Abbey. Many were the nights she and Abbey had sat up talking over scalded chocolate, and Abbey had slowly come to replace the mother she’d never known.
“Abbey, I’m going to go,” Rafe said flatly.

“No you’re not.”

“Please don’t make this difficult, Abbey. I promise to behave.”

“Your promise to behave means only that you will apologize prettily after you’ve wrought havoc on some unsuspecting source,” Abbey replied smartly.

“Abbey, I’m not that bad,” Rafe protested. “I never hurt anyone with my…somewhat impulsive and…vivacious behavior.”

Abbey sighed. “Rafe, dear Rafe, I have the fondest hopes for you. I cling to the waning hope that you will reach maturity before you do hurt someone with your lies,” Abbey used the word Rafe had carefully skirted. “I pray most particularly that it won’t be yourself who gets hurt. You think your actions are harmless, but I’m warning you, you’re going to get in over your head one day. Deep enough that it may be a high price is exacted for your actions. And I won’t be there to help you make things better. You must start taking things seriously. You must learn that for every action, there are repercussions.”

“What does any of this have to do with my going to Trina’s for Christmas rather than rotting away in that damned convent?” Rafe replied obtusely.

“Damned means consigned to hell. I doubt the nuns of the Sacred Heart are consigned to hell. Try to be precise Rafe. And quit cursing,” Abbey reprimanded.

“So what does any of this have to do with me going home with Trina?”

“If you can’t put two and two together, than it’s a good thing you’re not going. And you are not going. You are not taking your winsome, wily, sweet, lying self into the home of a notorious rake for three weeks. End of conversation,” Abbey said firmly.

Rafe studied the carpet, a sullen look on her face. Blackmail it would have to be. “You know how I am when I make up my mind. I am going home with Trina.”

“Over my--” Abbey began, then stopped when Rafe tossed a letter on her desk. She knew Rafe too well to think it was a casual action. Abbey picked up the letter and started to read. It wasn’t in her handwriting, but it was a word for word copy of the one she’s sent to the Duke of Bennington a few weeks ago. A copy of the real one she was certain Rafe had somewhere, in which Abbey had admitted to an intimate liaison with the Duke himself.

Abbey sank back into her chair and studied Rafe levelly. There was no mercy in her gaze. She tossed the letter back on her desk with cold eyes. “You win Rafe Bennington. But I’m no longer responsible for you. You’ve gone too far this time. You’ve abused our friendship, you’ve broken every rule, you’ve made it all too clear that you will do whatever it takes to get your way, with no thought to anyone else,” Abbey swallowed. She couldn’t believe Rafe was doing this to her. Dear Rafe, whom she loved unconditionally. Rafe who had always respected Abbey’s bottom line, a respect she accorded no other. “I can no longer care what havoc you bring down upon your own head. I’ve tried. As of this moment, Lady Bennington, I quit trying. You and I are no longer friends.” Abbey turned her back on the girl then, her gesture of dismissal clear.

Abbey didn’t see the pain that flooded Rafe’s expressive eyes, as she rose to leave. Didn’t know that Rafe was experiencing that strange new duality again. The duality that was simultaneously a sixteen year old girl who longed to do nothing more than throw herself in Abbey’s arms and beg her forgiveness, and yet also a woman that needed to discover herself, a woman that couldn’t turn back.

It was with leaden heart that Abbey watched Rafe leave her study. Rafe had won the battle, but would she figure out that she might well have lost the war? Abbey knew that Rafe had never been emotionally hurt in her entire sixteen years, thus was lacking in a key ingredient to traversing the bridge from adolescence into adulthood. Compassion. Co-Pathos, feeling for another person. Empathy. Rafe was long overdue a less in life, Abbey thought, and maybe, just maybe, this time she’ll get one. Abbey couldn’t provide it for her, but perhaps the Marquis de Galle could.