Five hundred francs. Grace would have the whole amount she needed by the end of the month, when she received her six hundred franc salary. She was so grateful to Erik she couldn't find words. All she could do was thank him repeatedly - and this made the poor man extremely confused. He brought her back to her room and left without a word.

   Grace added the money to the rest of her savings. She was surprised to find his handkerchief still clutched in her hand. She put it on her bureau and started unbuttoning her - his  shirt. Yet her hands stilled on the third button and her eyes drifted to the white cloth. She should try to wash it before she gave it back. Her eyes skimmed over it, looking at the details and specks of blood... and her heart nearly stopped beating. Her delicate hands trembled and her hazel eyes widened in her pale face as she opened one of the drawers of the dresser and moved things around. She took out her box of secrets - a little brown, wooden box with one rose carved into the lid - and lifted the lid and took out only one thing. She brought out a little piece of material that had been touched so many times throughout a period of many years that it was permanently wrinkled. It was a handkerchief. She placed it next to the blood spotted one then held them both up. She felt her body grow cold as she recognized the familiar designs and read the initials sewn into them.

   E. F. D.

    Grace, violently shaking from head to toe clenched her hands into fists, her nails digging into her previously damaged palms. Both handkerchiefs were clutched to her chest. So he had saved her once again.

    Merde.

                                                🌹

      Her traveling dress was a pastel blue trimmed in black lace. Nora always politely pointed out that the colors clashed, but Grace liked the black accent. She liked the color black in general. It made her look less like a girl and more like a woman who should be taken seriously. The dress hugged what little curves she had, and the lace drew patterns on her neck and wrists, where it was stitched. Her mousy hair was pinned up, and her reticule was hanging from her arm. Grace left her room an hour and a half before the ship was due in to dock. She had business to attend to before Nora and George arrived.

    Business she would not be telling them about.

     She had pushed the discovery of the twin handkerchiefs from her mind as she had pushed away and blocked out every early childhood memory she had. She was a girl who walked in blissful ignorance down the steps of the theatre. A fool who found ecstasy in the oblivious cloud she attached to herself.

        Grace stopped to say hello to Fleur before making her way out.
   Except she had to stop again when she heard a horrid sobbing coming from behind a door.

  She pressed closer, trying to decipher who was violently sobbing and begging in that room. Then the door opened and she almost broke her nose on Erik's sternum.

    "Is Christina in there?" She demanded, her hands on her hips, staring him down.

   Erik shook his head. "No. Monsieur Lefay."

   Grace's jaw dropped. "Monsieur Lefay?" Her eyes darted to the closed door. "What did you do to him?"

   Erik appeared truly puzzled. "I don't know whether to be pleased that you suspect I did something to him or offended that you think of me in such a low light to suspect I did something to him. I merely fired him."

   "No!" Grace shouted. "Go back in there and give him back his position!"

   "No." Erik began to walk away.

   "Erik! Please!"

   "No. He was in charge of something and did not care enough to take care of what he was in charge of. I do not want him as my manager."

   "Erik!"

   "Stop shrieking my name as if you were a banshee who only knows one word of any language."

    "Erik! Now he knows the consequences and won't do that again! The fat blonde man with blue eyes was kind of threatening!"

   "Why do you call Monsieur Gaston that? He is a Vicomte you know. I never liked Vicomtes though."

   "Erik! He had to make a decision he thought you would agree with! He thought cutting the budget was better than losing a patron! He could have picked something that would benefit himself. He could have been bribed. But he didn't! How could you be so cruel?"

   How could you be so cruel? Christina had said the same thing to him once. Why did women keep calling him cruel? Just because it was true doesn't mean he wanted to hear it. Pained, he turned back to Grace, checking to see if she echoed his memory and was staring at him as if he were a monster. Which in his mind, he was.

   He opened the door and said, "Get back to work. Mademoiselle Treacle apparently is fond of you."

   Erik addressed Grace again, gold eyes quickly roaming over her outfit and coming to conclusions.

    "Where are you going?" He inquired.

   "To the docks." It was only partly a lie. "I'm meeting my family."

   "Alone? You are going to the docks alone?"

    The docks were a dangerous place for women to go alone. Grande Street was right around the corner.

    "Yes. I'm meeting George and Nora."

    Erik was horrified. How could her family permit her to go to the docks by herself? He debated a moment. He had been hoping to visit Christina... but Grace had done a lot for him, and he still felt like he owed her every kindness possible.

   "You're not going alone. I'll accompany you."

   "No!" She said. She'd never be able to attend to her business if he came!

   Erik took a step back. He had long ago mastered the art of hiding his hurt. He bitterly scolded himself. Erik could not blame her for not wanting a monster to accompany her anywhere. Her forgiveness for nearly strangling her clearly was all just words.

    Grace realized she'd been unclear. "The boat isn't due for an hour. I am leaving early to go to the market." This was a lie. "You'd hate me if I wasted so much of your time." Grace could never let him know where she had planned on going. She would not degrade herself in his eyes. But if he insisted on accompanying her, she'd have to save her plans for another day and take him through the market.

   "It would not waste my time. But I understand if you want a private gathering with your family. It's just that the docks are near Grande Street."

    She knew she'd already wasted time and that he probably would not let this go. "Then I would appreciate your company. I know Grande Street is very rough. I just don't want to be a bother." Ha, Grande Street being rough. Such an understatement.

       "Grace, it is you who have helped me. You are not a bother. Let me know if you ever need anything."

   "Thank you. I'd like you to meet my family," she said as they exited the building. "They are very good people."

   "Oh no doubt if they raised you. Your mother and father must be very proud of you."

  "My mother is dead. George and Nora adopted me. They are wonder- oh! Leopold! You'll get to meet Leopold!" Her face brightened immensely.

   Erik chuckled. Leopold must be a very important fellow to get that reaction out of her.

   "And who is Leopold? Your suitor? Brother?"

   Grace snorted as they turned down a bright, busy corner. "No. I'm an only child who has long since graduated to spinster status. Leopold is my... you'll see."

   Erik thought about what she said for a moment. She certainly was not old enough to be a spinster. Or... she didn't look it.

  "How old are you?"

   "I'll be twenty-one in January. I think. How old are you?"

   "Twenty now? Then how can you call yourself a spinster?"

    "Because I am. Who would ever want to marry me? American men aren't as romantic as French and are often ushered by their mothers into marriages of wealth. Generally they do marry for love and like hotheaded girls. But I'm too hotheaded, not very pretty, too bright, and my temper is painful, or so I've been told by several mothers. I'm rich but they are worried my insanity will pass on to my kids. Bad blood isn't something they like I guess. And French men aren't horrible. But I haven't met one who's personality I liked enough to put up with their temper and ego. How old are you?"

  "Thirty-four. I think."

     Erik found nothing wrong with Grace - or nothing wrong enough to make her undesirable as a wife. However, he would not get into an argument with her on purpose. He would never be able to change her mind, even if he won. But even Christina he could find flaws with. He couldn't see anything wrong with Grace.

   They reached the market in silence.

   Erik was lost in thought, trying to understand the woman beside him. She talked and acted like a man, but socially viewed herself as an old maid. Yet she was perfect. It made no sense. If Christina could marry, why couldn't Grace? Damn Pierre. He should be marrying Christina, not that damned fop. Yes, Christina would be better off with the fop, but Erik loved her. If only there was a way to exterminate Pierre  without having Christina trace it back to him. He shook his head. He wouldn't hurt Pierre. If Christina wanted him... she could have him. Like Heathcliff, he let his love be happy with her husband - begrudgingly.

   It took Erik five minutes to realize he lost Grace. He panicked both for her and for himself. Pulling his cloak's hood down over his face, he scanned the crowds of people. When he walked with someone, he could almost guarantee no one would bother him. By himself... that was another story. And Grace could get hurt. She picked fights, not avoided them.

   He spotted her at a table several yards away, handing a ragged child a baguette. The skinny urchin embraced her and scampered off. Erik smiled, both at her kindness, and at a memory. Then she searched her person for her reticule, which he saw was lying on the ground a few feet away from her. The seller waited impatiently. She spotted it, but the seller grabbed her arm angrily. Erik stepped in.

   "My reticule is right there! You can see it!" She said, exasperated with the man. He glared murderously at her.

    "And have you run when I let go? No."

  Erik whisked up her reticule, shocking Grace when she found it in her free hand. Erik dug his leather covered fingers into the mans hand, making the muscles contract, causing Grace's arm to spring free. He immediately pulled away and Grace practically threw the money at the vendor.

   "Bastard," she huffed.

   With that, Erik wasted no time dragging her away before the man could respond. Had she no filter? Had she no care for self preservation? She'd get herself killed one day. His eyes flickered to her throat and covered shoulder. She almost had been killed for her sharp actions. Numerous times it would seem.

   "Let us go to the docks."