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rsadelleSummary: "Miss Rexha, I wish to ask for your hand in marriage. I will be a true and faithful husband to you, and you and your mother shall never need worry again."
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Warning: Bebe is 16/17 in this story, which is underage by modern day standards.
Notes Part the First: When I was having a lot of trouble with the middle of "New York to L.A.," I thought, "Maybe I'll just scrap it and write a space AU instead." The problem with a space AU, of course, is: how did they meet? "Maybe," I thought, "they met when Bebe was a child." Then I thought both (a) "Creepy!" and (b) "I've read too much bad Chronicles of Riddick fan fic." But then I took that idea and dumped it into a regency AU, where it might still be mildly creepy but is at least period appropriate.
Notes Part the Second: Many things about this story would be different if I were writing the novel-length version. One of those is the issue of race, where instead of creating some sort of explanation, I have punted and not addressed the issue at all. For shortcut's sake, you can assume this fake regency world is one wherein race is not the influencing factor on what makes one respectable (or not).
Notes Part the Third: Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ghostling for providing me with useful information about regency romance meal schedules. Anything that's still wrong is entirely my fault.
Miss Bebe Rexha had much the life of any girl of her class. She was, perhaps, a bit more adventurous as a child, but in time she put away her childish ways and became a proper young lady. The importance of this was most brought home to her the year she was fifteen, for that year her father succumbed to an illness. He had done well to protect Bebe and her mother from the truth of things, but they were no longer as well off as they had believed.
Bebe understood that her sixteenth birthday brought with it her entrée into society as a woman of marriageable age. They were no longer wealthy enough to hold their own coming out ball for her, but she was presented into society in the homes of their peers. She danced with every eligible bachelor and both paid and received calls that would help her make an advantageous match. If she ever wished for something else, she was careful not to let it show, either to society or to her mother.
She had danced with Gabriel Saporta on occasion, and seen him in other parlors as she paid calls, but his arrival to call upon her came as a surprise to Bebe. It was a proper hour, if just a shade earlier than most callers would arrive.
Bebe poured tea while they exchanged pleasantries, but Mr. Saporta put his cup down untouched.
"Miss Rexha, Mrs. Rexha. I wish to speak plainly."
Bebe's mother nodded her consent.
"I understand that your husband's death has left you in a difficult situation." Although he was speaking plainly, there was, Bebe thought, still a note of caution to his speech. "I find that I, too, am in a situation where it would be best for all concerned if I were to marry."
Though he did not elaborate, Bebe thought of the rumors, passed from gossip to gossip, about Mr. Saporta's fondness for cards, dice, and drink.
Mr. Saporta left the settee where he'd been perched and knelt by Bebe's side. She hastily put her teacup down, lest it betray her nerves by shaking against the saucer.
"Miss Rexha, I wish to ask for your hand in marriage. I will be a true and faithful husband to you, and you and your mother shall never need worry again."
Bebe glanced briefly at her mother's encouraging face, then met Mr. Saporta's eyes directly. "Yes, Mr. Saporta. I should be delighted to become your wife."
He brushed his lips across the back of her hand. "As we are engaged, you must call me Gabe."
"Gabe, then," Bebe said. "And you may call me Bebe."
"Bebe," he repeated with a smile. He reached into a pocket and drew out a ring. "I had thought perhaps I was being too hopeful to bring this along with me, but as you have said yes." He slipped the ring onto her finger, where its unfamiliar coolness settled heavily against her skin.
"Thank you," she said, turning it to catch the light. "It is beautiful."
"Nearly as beautiful as the girl who wears it." Gabe's words also reminded Bebe that he was an accomplished flirt.
He returned to his seat, then, and chatted politely for a while longer. Before he left, he said, "Please do charge whatever you may need in the way of trousseau or wedding clothing to my account. My stepmother's social secretary will be in touch regarding details of the day."
*
For the course of their engagement, Bebe often danced with Gabe at balls or joined his group at other entertainments. She found him to be a most attentive gentleman, and she found that she enjoyed the company of his fellows.
*
Gabe came to her bed on their wedding night. Bebe had been told only a little by her mother, and it largely amounted to, "Do what he asks."
"I wish," Gabe said, brushing her hair away from her face, "that you could learn this in time with someone you truly loved, but this marriage must be consummated lest anyone cast doubt on its validity, and at least I can teach you that there is pleasure in the marriage bed."
There was indeed pleasure, a pleasure that made her tremble, even preceded as it was by the pain she knew to be part of the virgin's experience.
*
Bebe dressed carefully on her first morning as a married woman, but Gabe had already gone out by the time she went downstairs for breakfast. She spent the morning familiarizing herself with the house - her house, now, as well as his - and did not see her husband until he returned home for luncheon.
"I trust you're settling in," he said.
"Yes, thank you."
"I'd like you to leave my study and bedroom alone, and don't get rid of any of the books or heirlooms, but do make over the house to your liking. And, of course, the morning room is yours to do with as you wish. Consult with Mrs. Wilson. She knows which things can be gotten rid of and which can simply be moved to the attic or the country estate."
"Oh," Bebe said, not having previously considered that aspect of her tenure as mistress of this house, "thank you."
Gabe put his hand lightly over hers on the table. "If there's anything you would like, you only have to ask." He removed his hand and said, in a more businesslike tone, "I've arranged for music lessons for you."
Bebe looked up rather more sharply than was ladylike, and he smiled at her.
"Patrick is an accomplished composer. He usually doesn't take on students, but I assured him you were talented and he is a friend of mine, and so he's agreed. He'll be here tomorrow afternoon, and you can schedule your further lessons with him."
Bebe could barely breathe. She'd seen the music room, of course, and dared to sit and play the piano for a few moments, but lessons. She'd expected to have to put the dream of ever learning more away now that she was a married woman.
"Thank you," she said again, more heartfelt for this than for his words regarding the arrangement of the house.
*
Patrick, Bebe learned when he was announced, was the composer Patrick Stump. He was generally regarded as a prodigy, and Bebe had learned one of his compositions from her last governess.
He was also a short man, no taller than her, tending toward portliness, with thinning red hair and spectacles.
"Mrs. Saporta," he greeted her. "Before we decide on a course of study, I'd like to hear you play."
Bebe didn't dare play one of his compositions, but she played the piano for him and sang, and seemed to meet with his approval. At the very least, he agreed to teach her and they settled on thrice-weekly lessons.
*
Bebe became accustomed to her life as a married woman. She paid calls, sometimes with Gabe's company but often by herself, dined with Gabe most evenings, either at home or at the homes of his friends, and attended to her music lessons. Mr. Stump had consented even to teach her the guitar, unladylike though it was.
Gabe found her in the library one rainy morning when she was uninclined to pay or receive calls.
"No," he said when she made to get up. "Stay. I only came looking for something. I won't trouble you for long."
"You're not troubling me," she told him truthfully.
He smiled gently at her, as if he found her amusing, but when she met him in the dining room for luncheon, he asked her opinion on the book she'd been reading.
That set a new pattern for her days. No matter what she chose from the library's shelves, her husband seemed to have already read it and have opinions thereon. He did genuinely seem interested in her opinions as well. Their conversations would often extend into the afternoon, requiring that they remove themselves to the library to locate an exact quotation or for Gabe to suggest further reading, and even then, they continued over dinner and often ended their conversations only when the hour had come for them to retire to their beds.
*
On a day when she hadn't seen Gabe at all, he came home grinning and red-cheeked just in time for dinner.
"Pete's back," he said in explanation, although Bebe had no idea to whom he was referring. "And he's rather scandalously married an American heiress of some sort. I've said we'll host the dinner party constituting their re-entry into London society."
"Of course," Bebe said, already thinking on what sort of menu she would direct the cook to prepare.
Pete, she learned when Gabe provided her with a guest list, was the younger Lord Wentz.
Bebe was not a child anymore. She would not let the prospect of having a Lord attend her first dinner party as a married woman intimidate her. Indeed, all was arranged to her satisfaction well before the hour of the party, and she was at Gabe's side in a new gown to greet their guests.
Foremost among them were Lord Wentz and his new wife, a taller woman with red hair and an unfortunate habit of ducking her head, who urged Bebe, even upon their first acquaintance to, "Call me Ashlee, really," then ducked in to stage whisper, "We're not entirely this informal in the States, but I'm keeping up the appearance of barbarism for the benefit of society." Bebe couldn't hold in her giggle and determined to speak more with Ashlee, although Lord Wentz promptly dragged her off to meet Mr. Stump, who had arrived rather earlier.
Gabe's friends also included the extremely tall Misters Beckett, accompanied by his equally tall and striking wife, Suarez, accompanied by his fiancée, and Blackinton and McCoy, who each arrived alone. Bebe had often thought that Gabe's companions would all tower over her, making Lord Wentz's height something of a relief. There were also three Michaels - referred to amongst their particular crowd as Mike, Michael, and Mikey, to distinguish them - each accompanied by his wife, Mr. Novarro who had a round and smiling face, and, finally, Miss Victoria Asher, who had only recently returned from an unfashionable stay in the country and who arrived in a whirlwind.
"You're as lovely as Gabe's described," Miss Asher said upon their introduction.
Bebe blushed and murmured a thank you.
"You're lucky," Gabe said to Bebe, "that Victoria refused to marry me."
Miss Asher snorted in a most unladylike manner. "If we'd married, it would have been nothing but unwise bets and trying to kill each other as we slept. You're much better off without me. Have the Cardens arrived yet?" And then she swept off into the room without waiting for an answer.
"I am much better off," Gabe said, the pressure of his hand at the small of Bebe's back just barely perceptible through the layers of cloth.
As Miss Asher was the last to arrive, Gabe and Bebe joined the others in enjoying conversation before Mrs. Wilson called them all to the dining room.
After dinner, instead of the gentlemen and ladies retiring to separate rooms, Gabe led them all to the music room, where he insisted that those who could sing or play do so. This, Bebe found, encompassed nearly the entire company.
It was also a gathering somewhat lacking in propriety as several of the musical selections were those more suited to the docks than a respectable salon.
"You must sing," Gabe said to her. "Perhaps the duet I've heard you and Patrick practicing."
"You know the words as well as I," Mr. Stump said. "You sing with your wife and I'll accompany you."
And so Bebe found herself dueting with her husband before the group of people he most considered his friends, with the result of so much applause that Lord Wentz declared, "We'll have to leave the musical portion of the evening there. No one can best that."
The party broke up not long after that, with the guests assuring Gabe and Bebe that they had had a marvelous time, and Bebe, after checking to ensure the staff was taking care of the things that couldn't wait until morning, retired to bed.
After she'd dismissed her maid, she pulled a dressing gown over her night shift and knocked on the door to Gabe's chamber.
He called out an invitation to enter, and looked up from the book he was perusing when she did so. She had glanced at the mirror before coming to his door and knew how she must appear to him, her dark skin darker against the ivory of the shift and gown, her hair unbound and falling about her shoulders.
"Truthfully," she asked before she could lose her nerve, "why did you marry me and not Miss Asher or some other girl?"
"I remember you," he said softly, his lips curving into a smile. "Little Bebe singing every song she could learn and teaching everyone else even when she got in trouble for them."
Bebe could feel her cheeks fill with heat. Truly, she had absorbed every song she'd heard as a child, and she had recognized a number of the dockyard tunes earlier in the evening.
Gabe put his book aside, and came to her. "You always look lovely, but these pale colors." He brushed his hand over her shoulder. "You should wear bright colors, like your dolls always did."
Oh, he really had remembered her then. Bebe could think of no response to his words. She needn't have, though, as Gabe only kissed her forehead and said, "Good night."
"Good night," she managed, before she returned to her own room.
*
It took Bebe five days before she was willing to slip into the dressmakers and order three dresses in brilliant shades.
She first wore one of them, a bright turquoise, to tea with Ashlee.
"It suits you," Ashlee said as they took a turn around the garden arm in arm. Even Lord Wentz's London house was equipped with large grounds.
"Yes," Bebe said, "I rather think it does, but I can only imagine it would cause quite a scandal."
"Or perhaps you would start a new fashion. You're a well-bred girl who's married into a wealthy family that can't be crossed no matter how much society may disapprove. I've heard your husband's stepmother was quite the trendsetter in her day."
"Perhaps." Bebe turned the conversation to other topics.
Gabe smiled nearly as wide as she'd ever seen him when she arrived home.
"You look beautiful." He squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek, making her feel decidedly beautiful.
*
Bebe took to wearing her brightly colored dresses as a matter of course, and, true to Ashlee's prediction, it became a fashion.
At one ball, she wore a deep magenta gown and found herself in the midst of a small cluster of similarly jewel-colored women.
"Here comes Lady Wentz," one of them said, her voice doing more than her face to show just how little she thought the woman in question deserved the title. "The American."
As soon as Ashlee reached them, Bebe hooked her arm through Ashlee's. "I'm sure you've all met my most particular friend Lady Wentz." Bebe hugged Ashlee's arm closer. "But I'm afraid there's someone else we must speak with."
"Were they saying horrible things about me again?" Ashlee asked once they were out of earshot and on their way to say hello to Lady Way, who was only lately out of her confinement.
Bebe, not wanting to hurt her friend, didn't answer.
"That's very darling of you," Ashlee said, "but you don't need to defend me. I don't mind." She tossed her hair back.
Bebe doubted the truth of that, but did her friend the courtesy of not contradicting her and said only, "At least this way they won't say them to me."
*
Gabe insisted they host an extravagant party for Bebe's seventeenth birthday. In addition to his particular friends, who had, in the time since they had first become engaged, become her particular friends, Bebe invited several other young ladies and gentlemen of her acquaintance, her mother, and Gabe's family. It amounted to a party nearly too grand for even their large home.
Bebe had a new gown made for the occasion, in a deep purple with a wide neckline that showed off her décolletage to best advantage.
Gabe greeted her at the stairs with a most appreciative look in his eye and a well-fitted suit on his frame. "You," he said, "are sure to be the most beautiful woman in attendance."
Bebe flushed and took his arm. "And you the most handsome man."
Bebe drank perhaps too much champagne and found herself clinging to Gabe's arm as they bid their guests goodnight. She similarly leaned on him as he walked her to the door of her room.
"Please," she said, even in her inebriation keeping her voice low enough not to reach any hovering servants, "come to my bed."
Gabe put his hands on either side of her face and bent to kiss her. His mouth, too, tasted of the champagne. One of his hands left her face as he wordlessly dismissed the servants, then he led her into her chamber, shut the door, and began unbuttoning the row of buttons down the back of her dress.
*
Bebe awoke alone the next morning feeling the effects of the champagne. She stayed in bed, dozing and taking only light meals, and did not see Gabe until breakfast the next morning.
"Are you well?" he asked her cautiously as she selected items from the platters at the center of the table.
"Yes," she replied. Then, feeling as daring as she had under the influence of the champagne, she put her hand over his on the table. "I do love you, you know."
"It's only that I've saved your family from debt and given you so much," he said, sounding deeply saddened.
Bebe looked at their hands together to avoid whatever expression might have been on his face. "You gave me music and friends and bright colors. You've only given me back parts of myself while asking nothing in return, and I love you for it." She put her sincerity in her voice as much as she was able.
In an instant, he had left his chair and knelt before hers. He clasped her hand in both of his. "My darling Bebe."
She looked down into his hopeful, joyful face.
"I do love you too." He crushed his mouth to hers, his arms coming to rest on top of her skirts.
Bebe was breathless and her heart was wild with joy. "I'm so glad you chose me to marry."
Gabe laughed, a rich, full sound and stood. He pulled her up with him, then swept her up, his arms under her knees and across her back. Bebe put her arms around his neck. "You're mad."
"Not at all." He seemed to carry her weight effortlessly, even as he started up the stairs. "Or if I am, it's mad with love."
Bebe laughed and kicked at the door to her chamber when they reached it. It wasn't latched and came open easily. Gabe set her down only long enough to remove her dress and undergarments before he lifted her again and carried her to her bed.
When he kissed her as his body joined hers, she knew what it was to be truly, remarkably happy.
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Warning: Bebe is 16/17 in this story, which is underage by modern day standards.
Notes Part the First: When I was having a lot of trouble with the middle of "New York to L.A.," I thought, "Maybe I'll just scrap it and write a space AU instead." The problem with a space AU, of course, is: how did they meet? "Maybe," I thought, "they met when Bebe was a child." Then I thought both (a) "Creepy!" and (b) "I've read too much bad Chronicles of Riddick fan fic." But then I took that idea and dumped it into a regency AU, where it might still be mildly creepy but is at least period appropriate.
Notes Part the Second: Many things about this story would be different if I were writing the novel-length version. One of those is the issue of race, where instead of creating some sort of explanation, I have punted and not addressed the issue at all. For shortcut's sake, you can assume this fake regency world is one wherein race is not the influencing factor on what makes one respectable (or not).
Notes Part the Third: Thank you to
ghostling for providing me with useful information about regency romance meal schedules. Anything that's still wrong is entirely my fault.Miss Bebe Rexha had much the life of any girl of her class. She was, perhaps, a bit more adventurous as a child, but in time she put away her childish ways and became a proper young lady. The importance of this was most brought home to her the year she was fifteen, for that year her father succumbed to an illness. He had done well to protect Bebe and her mother from the truth of things, but they were no longer as well off as they had believed.
Bebe understood that her sixteenth birthday brought with it her entrée into society as a woman of marriageable age. They were no longer wealthy enough to hold their own coming out ball for her, but she was presented into society in the homes of their peers. She danced with every eligible bachelor and both paid and received calls that would help her make an advantageous match. If she ever wished for something else, she was careful not to let it show, either to society or to her mother.
She had danced with Gabriel Saporta on occasion, and seen him in other parlors as she paid calls, but his arrival to call upon her came as a surprise to Bebe. It was a proper hour, if just a shade earlier than most callers would arrive.
Bebe poured tea while they exchanged pleasantries, but Mr. Saporta put his cup down untouched.
"Miss Rexha, Mrs. Rexha. I wish to speak plainly."
Bebe's mother nodded her consent.
"I understand that your husband's death has left you in a difficult situation." Although he was speaking plainly, there was, Bebe thought, still a note of caution to his speech. "I find that I, too, am in a situation where it would be best for all concerned if I were to marry."
Though he did not elaborate, Bebe thought of the rumors, passed from gossip to gossip, about Mr. Saporta's fondness for cards, dice, and drink.
Mr. Saporta left the settee where he'd been perched and knelt by Bebe's side. She hastily put her teacup down, lest it betray her nerves by shaking against the saucer.
"Miss Rexha, I wish to ask for your hand in marriage. I will be a true and faithful husband to you, and you and your mother shall never need worry again."
Bebe glanced briefly at her mother's encouraging face, then met Mr. Saporta's eyes directly. "Yes, Mr. Saporta. I should be delighted to become your wife."
He brushed his lips across the back of her hand. "As we are engaged, you must call me Gabe."
"Gabe, then," Bebe said. "And you may call me Bebe."
"Bebe," he repeated with a smile. He reached into a pocket and drew out a ring. "I had thought perhaps I was being too hopeful to bring this along with me, but as you have said yes." He slipped the ring onto her finger, where its unfamiliar coolness settled heavily against her skin.
"Thank you," she said, turning it to catch the light. "It is beautiful."
"Nearly as beautiful as the girl who wears it." Gabe's words also reminded Bebe that he was an accomplished flirt.
He returned to his seat, then, and chatted politely for a while longer. Before he left, he said, "Please do charge whatever you may need in the way of trousseau or wedding clothing to my account. My stepmother's social secretary will be in touch regarding details of the day."
*
For the course of their engagement, Bebe often danced with Gabe at balls or joined his group at other entertainments. She found him to be a most attentive gentleman, and she found that she enjoyed the company of his fellows.
*
Gabe came to her bed on their wedding night. Bebe had been told only a little by her mother, and it largely amounted to, "Do what he asks."
"I wish," Gabe said, brushing her hair away from her face, "that you could learn this in time with someone you truly loved, but this marriage must be consummated lest anyone cast doubt on its validity, and at least I can teach you that there is pleasure in the marriage bed."
There was indeed pleasure, a pleasure that made her tremble, even preceded as it was by the pain she knew to be part of the virgin's experience.
*
Bebe dressed carefully on her first morning as a married woman, but Gabe had already gone out by the time she went downstairs for breakfast. She spent the morning familiarizing herself with the house - her house, now, as well as his - and did not see her husband until he returned home for luncheon.
"I trust you're settling in," he said.
"Yes, thank you."
"I'd like you to leave my study and bedroom alone, and don't get rid of any of the books or heirlooms, but do make over the house to your liking. And, of course, the morning room is yours to do with as you wish. Consult with Mrs. Wilson. She knows which things can be gotten rid of and which can simply be moved to the attic or the country estate."
"Oh," Bebe said, not having previously considered that aspect of her tenure as mistress of this house, "thank you."
Gabe put his hand lightly over hers on the table. "If there's anything you would like, you only have to ask." He removed his hand and said, in a more businesslike tone, "I've arranged for music lessons for you."
Bebe looked up rather more sharply than was ladylike, and he smiled at her.
"Patrick is an accomplished composer. He usually doesn't take on students, but I assured him you were talented and he is a friend of mine, and so he's agreed. He'll be here tomorrow afternoon, and you can schedule your further lessons with him."
Bebe could barely breathe. She'd seen the music room, of course, and dared to sit and play the piano for a few moments, but lessons. She'd expected to have to put the dream of ever learning more away now that she was a married woman.
"Thank you," she said again, more heartfelt for this than for his words regarding the arrangement of the house.
*
Patrick, Bebe learned when he was announced, was the composer Patrick Stump. He was generally regarded as a prodigy, and Bebe had learned one of his compositions from her last governess.
He was also a short man, no taller than her, tending toward portliness, with thinning red hair and spectacles.
"Mrs. Saporta," he greeted her. "Before we decide on a course of study, I'd like to hear you play."
Bebe didn't dare play one of his compositions, but she played the piano for him and sang, and seemed to meet with his approval. At the very least, he agreed to teach her and they settled on thrice-weekly lessons.
*
Bebe became accustomed to her life as a married woman. She paid calls, sometimes with Gabe's company but often by herself, dined with Gabe most evenings, either at home or at the homes of his friends, and attended to her music lessons. Mr. Stump had consented even to teach her the guitar, unladylike though it was.
Gabe found her in the library one rainy morning when she was uninclined to pay or receive calls.
"No," he said when she made to get up. "Stay. I only came looking for something. I won't trouble you for long."
"You're not troubling me," she told him truthfully.
He smiled gently at her, as if he found her amusing, but when she met him in the dining room for luncheon, he asked her opinion on the book she'd been reading.
That set a new pattern for her days. No matter what she chose from the library's shelves, her husband seemed to have already read it and have opinions thereon. He did genuinely seem interested in her opinions as well. Their conversations would often extend into the afternoon, requiring that they remove themselves to the library to locate an exact quotation or for Gabe to suggest further reading, and even then, they continued over dinner and often ended their conversations only when the hour had come for them to retire to their beds.
*
On a day when she hadn't seen Gabe at all, he came home grinning and red-cheeked just in time for dinner.
"Pete's back," he said in explanation, although Bebe had no idea to whom he was referring. "And he's rather scandalously married an American heiress of some sort. I've said we'll host the dinner party constituting their re-entry into London society."
"Of course," Bebe said, already thinking on what sort of menu she would direct the cook to prepare.
Pete, she learned when Gabe provided her with a guest list, was the younger Lord Wentz.
Bebe was not a child anymore. She would not let the prospect of having a Lord attend her first dinner party as a married woman intimidate her. Indeed, all was arranged to her satisfaction well before the hour of the party, and she was at Gabe's side in a new gown to greet their guests.
Foremost among them were Lord Wentz and his new wife, a taller woman with red hair and an unfortunate habit of ducking her head, who urged Bebe, even upon their first acquaintance to, "Call me Ashlee, really," then ducked in to stage whisper, "We're not entirely this informal in the States, but I'm keeping up the appearance of barbarism for the benefit of society." Bebe couldn't hold in her giggle and determined to speak more with Ashlee, although Lord Wentz promptly dragged her off to meet Mr. Stump, who had arrived rather earlier.
Gabe's friends also included the extremely tall Misters Beckett, accompanied by his equally tall and striking wife, Suarez, accompanied by his fiancée, and Blackinton and McCoy, who each arrived alone. Bebe had often thought that Gabe's companions would all tower over her, making Lord Wentz's height something of a relief. There were also three Michaels - referred to amongst their particular crowd as Mike, Michael, and Mikey, to distinguish them - each accompanied by his wife, Mr. Novarro who had a round and smiling face, and, finally, Miss Victoria Asher, who had only recently returned from an unfashionable stay in the country and who arrived in a whirlwind.
"You're as lovely as Gabe's described," Miss Asher said upon their introduction.
Bebe blushed and murmured a thank you.
"You're lucky," Gabe said to Bebe, "that Victoria refused to marry me."
Miss Asher snorted in a most unladylike manner. "If we'd married, it would have been nothing but unwise bets and trying to kill each other as we slept. You're much better off without me. Have the Cardens arrived yet?" And then she swept off into the room without waiting for an answer.
"I am much better off," Gabe said, the pressure of his hand at the small of Bebe's back just barely perceptible through the layers of cloth.
As Miss Asher was the last to arrive, Gabe and Bebe joined the others in enjoying conversation before Mrs. Wilson called them all to the dining room.
After dinner, instead of the gentlemen and ladies retiring to separate rooms, Gabe led them all to the music room, where he insisted that those who could sing or play do so. This, Bebe found, encompassed nearly the entire company.
It was also a gathering somewhat lacking in propriety as several of the musical selections were those more suited to the docks than a respectable salon.
"You must sing," Gabe said to her. "Perhaps the duet I've heard you and Patrick practicing."
"You know the words as well as I," Mr. Stump said. "You sing with your wife and I'll accompany you."
And so Bebe found herself dueting with her husband before the group of people he most considered his friends, with the result of so much applause that Lord Wentz declared, "We'll have to leave the musical portion of the evening there. No one can best that."
The party broke up not long after that, with the guests assuring Gabe and Bebe that they had had a marvelous time, and Bebe, after checking to ensure the staff was taking care of the things that couldn't wait until morning, retired to bed.
After she'd dismissed her maid, she pulled a dressing gown over her night shift and knocked on the door to Gabe's chamber.
He called out an invitation to enter, and looked up from the book he was perusing when she did so. She had glanced at the mirror before coming to his door and knew how she must appear to him, her dark skin darker against the ivory of the shift and gown, her hair unbound and falling about her shoulders.
"Truthfully," she asked before she could lose her nerve, "why did you marry me and not Miss Asher or some other girl?"
"I remember you," he said softly, his lips curving into a smile. "Little Bebe singing every song she could learn and teaching everyone else even when she got in trouble for them."
Bebe could feel her cheeks fill with heat. Truly, she had absorbed every song she'd heard as a child, and she had recognized a number of the dockyard tunes earlier in the evening.
Gabe put his book aside, and came to her. "You always look lovely, but these pale colors." He brushed his hand over her shoulder. "You should wear bright colors, like your dolls always did."
Oh, he really had remembered her then. Bebe could think of no response to his words. She needn't have, though, as Gabe only kissed her forehead and said, "Good night."
"Good night," she managed, before she returned to her own room.
*
It took Bebe five days before she was willing to slip into the dressmakers and order three dresses in brilliant shades.
She first wore one of them, a bright turquoise, to tea with Ashlee.
"It suits you," Ashlee said as they took a turn around the garden arm in arm. Even Lord Wentz's London house was equipped with large grounds.
"Yes," Bebe said, "I rather think it does, but I can only imagine it would cause quite a scandal."
"Or perhaps you would start a new fashion. You're a well-bred girl who's married into a wealthy family that can't be crossed no matter how much society may disapprove. I've heard your husband's stepmother was quite the trendsetter in her day."
"Perhaps." Bebe turned the conversation to other topics.
Gabe smiled nearly as wide as she'd ever seen him when she arrived home.
"You look beautiful." He squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek, making her feel decidedly beautiful.
*
Bebe took to wearing her brightly colored dresses as a matter of course, and, true to Ashlee's prediction, it became a fashion.
At one ball, she wore a deep magenta gown and found herself in the midst of a small cluster of similarly jewel-colored women.
"Here comes Lady Wentz," one of them said, her voice doing more than her face to show just how little she thought the woman in question deserved the title. "The American."
As soon as Ashlee reached them, Bebe hooked her arm through Ashlee's. "I'm sure you've all met my most particular friend Lady Wentz." Bebe hugged Ashlee's arm closer. "But I'm afraid there's someone else we must speak with."
"Were they saying horrible things about me again?" Ashlee asked once they were out of earshot and on their way to say hello to Lady Way, who was only lately out of her confinement.
Bebe, not wanting to hurt her friend, didn't answer.
"That's very darling of you," Ashlee said, "but you don't need to defend me. I don't mind." She tossed her hair back.
Bebe doubted the truth of that, but did her friend the courtesy of not contradicting her and said only, "At least this way they won't say them to me."
*
Gabe insisted they host an extravagant party for Bebe's seventeenth birthday. In addition to his particular friends, who had, in the time since they had first become engaged, become her particular friends, Bebe invited several other young ladies and gentlemen of her acquaintance, her mother, and Gabe's family. It amounted to a party nearly too grand for even their large home.
Bebe had a new gown made for the occasion, in a deep purple with a wide neckline that showed off her décolletage to best advantage.
Gabe greeted her at the stairs with a most appreciative look in his eye and a well-fitted suit on his frame. "You," he said, "are sure to be the most beautiful woman in attendance."
Bebe flushed and took his arm. "And you the most handsome man."
Bebe drank perhaps too much champagne and found herself clinging to Gabe's arm as they bid their guests goodnight. She similarly leaned on him as he walked her to the door of her room.
"Please," she said, even in her inebriation keeping her voice low enough not to reach any hovering servants, "come to my bed."
Gabe put his hands on either side of her face and bent to kiss her. His mouth, too, tasted of the champagne. One of his hands left her face as he wordlessly dismissed the servants, then he led her into her chamber, shut the door, and began unbuttoning the row of buttons down the back of her dress.
*
Bebe awoke alone the next morning feeling the effects of the champagne. She stayed in bed, dozing and taking only light meals, and did not see Gabe until breakfast the next morning.
"Are you well?" he asked her cautiously as she selected items from the platters at the center of the table.
"Yes," she replied. Then, feeling as daring as she had under the influence of the champagne, she put her hand over his on the table. "I do love you, you know."
"It's only that I've saved your family from debt and given you so much," he said, sounding deeply saddened.
Bebe looked at their hands together to avoid whatever expression might have been on his face. "You gave me music and friends and bright colors. You've only given me back parts of myself while asking nothing in return, and I love you for it." She put her sincerity in her voice as much as she was able.
In an instant, he had left his chair and knelt before hers. He clasped her hand in both of his. "My darling Bebe."
She looked down into his hopeful, joyful face.
"I do love you too." He crushed his mouth to hers, his arms coming to rest on top of her skirts.
Bebe was breathless and her heart was wild with joy. "I'm so glad you chose me to marry."
Gabe laughed, a rich, full sound and stood. He pulled her up with him, then swept her up, his arms under her knees and across her back. Bebe put her arms around his neck. "You're mad."
"Not at all." He seemed to carry her weight effortlessly, even as he started up the stairs. "Or if I am, it's mad with love."
Bebe laughed and kicked at the door to her chamber when they reached it. It wasn't latched and came open easily. Gabe set her down only long enough to remove her dress and undergarments before he lifted her again and carried her to her bed.
When he kissed her as his body joined hers, she knew what it was to be truly, remarkably happy.