Chapter 4

What was she doing just now? Trying to stake her claim? Warn other women to stay away from Fraser? What a joke. She didn't have the right. Not anymore. They were done, or at least she'd already decided to be. Six years she'd spent tangled up with Fraser. The Hawkins family business was steady now, everything she'd ever fought for-he gave it all to her. And now that he was finally back in the country, ready to take on the world, she wasn't about to drag him down with messy loose ends. She'd promised herself she'd walk away clean-and she wasn't going to be the name people whispered about in his story from here on. Bellamy rubbed the corner of her eye, head down, and when she looked up, someone stood right in front of her. They almost bumped. She took a small step back and found herself face to face with Marianne Blake, poised and graceful like always. "Bellamy, you really shouldn't be here," Marianne said, her tone soft but her words cutting sharp. "Fraser's already done more than enough for you. He's back, and he's finally stepping up to lead the Branwell Group. This is his time. He deserves someone who truly fits him-like Lydia Grant. You ought to know your place by now, don't you think?" Marianne's dark purple gown made her look stunningly dignified. She was in her early forties, but she looked barely thirty, like time itself was giving her special treatment. Her beauty was still breathtaking, a timeless charm. Bellamy stared at the face that so closely mirrored her own-too similar, in fact. Instantly, all that softness and hesitation inside her vanished. She let out a faint, detached laugh. "Lydia might be high-born and polished, but that doesn't mean she's the perfect match for Fraser. If she really were, then how do you explain your own existence? As far as I know, you weren't exactly some silver-spoon debutante either. And yet-weren't you the one who became Mrs. Branwell?" Marianne's face paled. Bellamy's smile turned sharp as she stepped right past her, the sway of her dress almost mocking. Marianne snapped out of her daze and caught Bellamy's arm, desperation sneaking into her voice. "Bellamy, don't go over to Fraser. Please, I'm begging you. Just don't." Bellamy calmly uncurled her fingers one by one and turned back, her tone cool with a hint of smugness. "Mrs. Branwell, even if I don't go to him, he's already on his way to me. Don't believe me? Just look-you'll see." Marianne's eyes widened in disbelief as Bellamy gave a tiny nod toward the ballroom. Then she leaned close, voice low and razor-sharp by her ear. "He's already in deep. Did you think I'd let him walk away that easily?" She felt Marianne freeze. Oh, that felt good. Fraser hadn't even made it all the way to them yet, but Bellamy went ahead and met him halfway, slipping her arm through his smoothly, tilting her head with an innocent grin. "You finished your speech-why'd you take so long to come find me? I've been waiting forever to dance with you!" Fraser smiled slightly, gently patting her hand on his arm before turning to Marianne. "Marianne, didn't Dad say you weren't feeling well? Shouldn't you be resting at home? There's really no need for you to be here tonight." Marianne shed her colder demeanor and answered with warmth, "Oh, I'm fine. Your father just fusses too much. Today's such a huge day for you-there's no way I'd miss it." Right then, Arthur Branwell walked up, slipping an arm around his wife. His glance toward Bellamy held a flash of something like resignation, but he addressed his son. "Fraser, a lot of the older folks came tonight. Be sure to go talk to them. You'll be needing their support down the road." Fraser nodded lightly, then took Bellamy's hand and led her straight to the dance floor.