Upon Your Return

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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

Note:

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.

Cover Art by Shannon Nemechek

Marie Lavender © 2013, second edition published 2020, third edition published 2022.

Upon Your Return

Book One of the Heiresses in Love Series

Marie Lavender

Dedication

To the one I love – without you, this book might still be a work in progress. I will always be thankful for the chain of events that brought us together. Fate often guides two soul mates in the right direction to find each other.

Upon Your Return

by Marie Lavender

Book one of the Heiresses in Love Series

Prologue

November 8, 1853

Fara Bellamont stepped away from the bay window overlooking the harbor. She didn't want to move; she would miss her home too much. The view of the waves rocking against the hulls of the ships in the harbor had calmed her restless soul on many sleepless nights. There was something about the greenish hue of the ocean and its gentle sway which drew her to it. It was a sight she welcomed but was not exactly in her blood. Her parents' home was but a carriage ride away from port. Her father was a businessman who had acquired many connections with the trades' captains.

Even the sea's lullaby couldn’t calm the uncertain waters ahead. With a heavy sigh she crossed the room to the trunk in the middle of her chamber. She lifted the lid and kneeled, gently probing the yards of soft, blue velvet. It was her mother's gown from the night her parents had met. They had been united by her mother’s season celebration in Marseille. A woman's first introduction into society wasn’t supposed to result in a love match, only certain options. A potential husband would’ve come in time when her mother had been to numerous parties and such. But André Bellamont had been the luckiest suitor in the crowd. Fara heard the story many times. Her parents often reflected on it, and she herself tended to beg them to tell her how they'd met time and time again. Nothing could’ve prevented their union. They had fallen in love despite her grandparents' insistence that Annabelle D'Aubigne was too young to be tied down.

Fara's throat tightened with emotion as she touched the portrait of her parents, which was rolled securely for safe storage. A sense of loss overcame her. It seemed like a lifetime ago when they had left her in the care of Rosalie, her nursemaid, so that her father could finish a business agreement. Obligation had required him to travel overseas, and her mother refused to be left behind.

Though she loved them both dearly, she often wondered what might’ve happened if her mother had decided to stay at home. Perhaps Turkish pirates would not have overtaken the ship. André and Annabelle would still be alive. Squeezing her eyes shut, her shoulders shook silently with grief. She clenched her jaw on the ache of tears. No, she couldn’t allow herself to accept it yet. There was still much to be done.

Glancing up, she caught her reflection in the mirror propped up against a wall. Wearing a pure white muslin gown, she looked little more than a limp waif in laced-up boots. Nearly the ripe age of nine, she wished she was much older—at least old enough to object to her parents' silly will. Or old enough to tear down the pale sheets enveloping the furniture in the house. It looked like a place for ghosts, not lively people. The house was dead, empty; much like her heart.

Now she was to prepare for a new life, transported to a stranger's home where her days would pass slowly, one just as grim as the next, she feared. She’d heard rumors of her uncle's disposition. She had never met him, but her parents hadn’t wanted her to be around him.

She remembered one evening when she was supposed to be in bed, and she heard raised voices downstairs. Fara had crept out of her room, careful to avoid disturbing her nursemaid, and knelt at the posts on the balcony.

Her father shook his head. “He is family.”

“So, he is. But I will not have him within the vicinity of our daughter.” This came from her mother, still as beautiful as ever in a pale blue gown.

“And why not?”

“You see the way he has treated me. He obviously doesn’t like women. How can we know he won't treat Fara the same?”

Papa muttered something incoherent. “He is my brother. I cannot think he would shun her.”

“Did I say that? But he is a harsh man, love. Not the sort of man you would want around your child.”

He nodded. “Perhaps you're right. In any case, it hardly matters. We live here in Marseille, and he is in La Rochelle. And he could hardly wish to visit.” He sighed. “But if anything were to happen to us, who do you imagine would care for her?”

“Lina?”

“Lina has her own life. Besides, society would hardly accept that.”

“She’ll be married soon. Why not? Perhaps her husband would be all right with that sort of arrangement.”

“It is hardly likely. It makes sense to leave her to Michel.”

Her mother clenched her fists. “Not whilst I am living will I expose her to that wretched man.” Then she stormed out of the room.

Papa stared after her. “Chére, wait!” And he followed her mother shortly.

Fara rose slowly, frowning, and then went back to her bedroom.

The scene had made little sense to her at the time, but she wondered if her mother's claims were at all true. Could it be possible? Had her parents kept her away from her uncle for a reason? Because he didn’t like children?

Fara shuddered. She did not wish to live with such a man.

“Mademoiselle!” Rosalie rushed into the room now, fussing over Fara's auburn tresses and straightening her gown. “We must ready you for the trip.”

“When is he coming?”

“Monsieur Bellamont will be here shortly.”

“He has traveled so far.”

“You are family, though.”

“Does that matter to someone like him?”

Rosalie frowned. “You mustn’t say those things in public. Someone will hear you and believe you are not a lady.”

“Am I, Rosalie?”

“What, Mademoiselle?”

“A lady.”

Her nursemaid smiled with a slow spread across her features. “You will be one day, Fara.” She kneeled before her young charge and re-laced her boots. “Come. You shouldn’t keep your uncle waiting.”

“Is he as bad as they say?”

“Hush. All will be better soon, I promise.” She began to usher her out of the room.

“Wait!”

Fara sidestepped Rosalie and ran to the bay window, taking in the view she was sure she'd never see again. She grabbed a gold locket and chain from a nearby table, and then joined Rosalie at the door. As they trekked down the stairs, her breath caught in her throat.