BACK IN A FLASH I
My Little Maeve and Dance in the Park

Once his mind was made up, he set forth every effort to accomplish his goal. The goal on that starry night was to finally meet face-to-face the French actress St. Just he had been secretly lusting on and off over for the past four years. Each time Blakeney entered France, if his plans allowed, he would scour over the papers and find where she was performing so he could see her.

His dress was simply crying out English charm. An elegant royal blue coat, with red and white accents. His black britches that had the long red and white stripe down the sides. Black riding boots and his black top hat. His gloves were white and, of course, he had a black and white cane to match. He felt confident in this outfit and hoped it would catch the lady's eye.

Watching her on stage from his box seat, Blakeney could not take his eyes off her. Each line she spoke, with the intensity and professionalism of a true actress, had him hanging off the edge of the balcony. She was so real. She made the whole audience believe what she was saying was true. This reason alone is what first drew the Englishman to her. She was playing 'Celimene' in Moliere's "The Misanthrope". Perhaps the comedy about relationships should have served as a warning, but it did not.

When the final show was done, Blakeney paid a messager to her to inform her that one of her biggest fans would like the pleasure of her company for a moment or two. In the event that she did not care for such a bloke, he could ease his way out with little embarrassment. He moved from his box seat and wandered around the normal floor seating in front of the stage. The entire house was empty at this point and the workers were slowly dimming the candles out. One by one.

Blakeney casually paced back and forth amongst the barren chairs, his top hat tucked under his arm and his hands in the pockets of his coat. He had thought of whistling, but did not want to appear as nervous or as anxious and he felt inside.

Curiosity had gotten the best of Marguerite that night. "Her biggest fan" wanted to meet her after the performance in the empty house. After changing out of her costume and into her regular clothes, Marguerite quitely crept onto the empty stage, dimly lit by a few smoldering footlights that refused to go out. There, out in the darkness of the empty house, she could she the silollet of her admirer.

The actress St. Just cleared her throat as she stepped out into the middle of the stage near one of the still burning lights. The sudden sound must have startled the admirer becuase he quickely turned to face her and the desserted stage. Marguerite crossed the stage to a set of steps that lead to the orchestra pit and then to the audience where the man was standing.

With a quick start of the adreneline, he spun and looked up at her. Blakeney wasn't sure what to expect out of this meeting, but he improv-ed everything and now allowed his instincts to take over this as well. "I thank the mademoiselle for meeting me unexpected like this."

His long lanky legs strolled over to St. Just and extended his black gloved hand to her. "I hope I am not keeping you from any shut down or wrap up session after a show. I wanted to introduce myself. I am Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet. From Richmond." His blue eyes sparkled at finally seeing her and Blakeney felt his heart race more with St. Just's beauty intensified in person.

Marguerite smiled as she crossed the stage, carefully trying to watch the steps in the darkness. She lifted her skirt off the ground to keep from tripping as she addressed him. The gentle English accent slightly surprised her. "Of course not Sir, it is always a pleasure to meet an admirer."

As she carefully continued along the steps, the englishman rushed over and up the first few steps and reached out a hand. Marguerite reached for the hand, which was unusually soft and smooth for a man, and followed as he lead her down to the floor. She stopped at the foot of the stairs, still letting her eyes adjust trying to better see the stranger in the darkness.

He could smell her as she took his hand and he lead her down. "I hope you do not mind an admirer such as myself. I hate to admit, but I have watched you perform on and off for the last four years on my trips."

Marguerite was surprised, "For four years you have been watching me?" Four years ago Marguerite was still just beginning her career, mostly playing supporting roles and occassionally even young boys in small operettas. "Well Sir, I am flattered by your support, but why may I ask, have you only now decided to speak to me?"

His face became flush with embarrasement he was not willing to hide. "I will enduldge you in a secret Mlle. St. Just. I am hoping for the pleasure of your company. Might I take you somewhere? For something to eat or drink? I can only imagine you are famished after such grand work done here tonight."

"So sure you are already that my company will be a pleasure?" Marguerite replied, letting a hint of her classic wit show. "Well then Sir, you may escort me to supper tonight, but we must hurry, if we arrive too late we will not get a good table."

Blakeney could not surpress the smile of happiness that formed across his lips. In his many years of travel, he hardly ever took advantage of the lovely scenery of ladies that caught his eye. Back in London, many a Baroness or Lady in waiting tried to court him for matrimony. When friends forced him, Blakeney would be the escort of one of their lady friends to dinner. He would be thankful for their beauty, but their intellect was always lacking. He had his ways about him. The judgement calls he forced upon others. To date, no one came up to meet his stringent standards. Mlle. St. Just spoke a lot, which was not uncommon for her gender, so Sir Percy smiled goodnaturedly and followed her lead.

Marguerite had already had plans for the evening, but did not mind the change. In fact she planned on sort of showing off the handsome admirer for the night. Actresses have a reputation as being a certain kind of girl. Marguerite was far from the stereotype, but that did not stop so-called admirers from trying. Often she and some of the other actresses that had "admirers" would allow the men to escort them out simply for show, but the admirers never got what they really wanted, at least from her.

It was not hard to see that this little actress was having fun with his request. It made Blakeney feel a bit uncomfortable, but he knew he had no right to feel that way. He had approached her after all, and she could just have easily told him 'Thank you, No and Goodbye." He liked the way the English rolled off her French tongue. So far, she had proven herself educated and accomplished. These two things alone turned Blakeney on and set her apart from the rest.

Marguerite led the way to the front of the theatre and opened the heavy front door, quickely peering outside. The street was clear and for once quiet. "Come now, this is the way to the restuarant." Marguerite said as she pointedd to the left down the street. "I doubt a proper Englishman such as yourself as ever been to a place like this."

Quickly he brought his arm and gloved hand up above her head, pushing on the heavy front theatre door she seemed to intent on opening without his assistance. "Please Mlle. St. Just!" He near cried in alarm and offered her his arm. As they walked down the barren nightly street, Sir Percy tucked his cane under his arm and put on his top hat. The night air was refreshingly chilly this spring eve. Although things in Paris were quickly becoming heated with the war of rich vs. poor, Blakeney kept his profile low and felt safe. At least, he had kept his profile low until this daring venture of asking the most famous actress in France out for a meal.

"Where are we going Mlle. St. Just?" Sir Percy smiled and laughed at getting lead by her. "An improper place for an Englishman? Will I be arrested?" Blakeney laughed at the thought and followed her, looking down at his date to admire her. In the distance, he heard music.

"No, no, no good Sir, not improper, just unlikely." Marguerite smiled as she took the gentleman's arm and strolled down the street. "Yet, I do insist that if you are to join me this evening for dinner that you call me Marguerite. We shall have none of this formality tonight."

"Whatever you desire... Marguerite." Blakeney loved saying the name. He had been staring at it on paper for four bloody long years. He uttered it in his dreams when he envisioned her. Now, he had the real thing and was more than happy to say it aloud.

The street was fairly dark, save for one noisy place of business on the corner a block or so away. Light was shinning out from the inside and the sounds of chatter mixed with music filled the air surrounding it. A crowd was already there and the bistro was filling quickely as all the night owls had come out for the evening. Once inside Marguerite waved to one of the girls that worked there, excusing herself from her escort for a moment, she meet with the girl and exchanged a few smiles and words before the girl pointed to a small table near the staging area. The girl left and Marguerite waved the handsome Englishman over towards her as she led the way to the empty table. She noted her friend stealing a few glances as her escort as they made their way to the table.

"Now tell be Sir, have you ever been to a place like this in all of your travels?"

Sir Percy hid the laughter at such a comment. He had been in these sort of places in his travels. In fact, he had been to this very place and that very waitress Mlle. St. Just was just speaking with. The waitress inadvertently gave him some information on the happenings in France just a few months back. Of course she would not recognize him. He was dressed as a 'Citoyen' at the time and the place was slow during the course of daylight. It looked very different to him tonight.

"I can not say I have ventured to these part before Mlle... Marguerite." Sir Percy quickly corrected his formalness and followed the actress in a stout manner. He took off his top hat upon entering the bistro and lazily brought his cane around to his side. Blakeney was not sure what to do next, so he held out a chair for her. "Might I offer you a seat Marguerite?" Blakeney's smile was pure and sincere.

Marguerite nodded and smiled as she took a seat in the chair the Englishman had taken out for her. "Thank you, Percy was it not?" In the better lighting of the bistro she could better make out the fine features of her admirer; tall and slender, well dressed and neatly groomed, but his bright blue eyes stood out as Marguerite looked at him. "So then, what is it exactly that keeps you coming to France?"

He smiled. "Yes Marguerite. Baronet Percy Blakeney. Commonly referred to as Sir Percy, but your ladyship may call me whatever suits you best." He sat down after her and blinked into the candlelight that flickered in his eyes from the middle of the table. He was trying to look at her and it was making him squint. "Business keeps me a bit well traveled. Demmed poor place for this, I say." Blakeney picked up the candle and moved it over to the side of the table.

Marguerite smiled, "I think for now Percy suits me quite well, now how does the name Percy suit you?"

He nodded in his lazy gentleman type manner. Sir Percy was not going to tell this excuiste creature how to address him. Anything she said, he enjoyed hearing from her soft belle like voice.

As usual, he had no exact plan on what he was going to say or do. His nervousness was kept in check and he spoke whatever came to his mind first. "I swear this little French spot has no idea the setting for such a treasure as you. Putting candles in front of a gentleman's eyes when he wishes to gaze across the table. Not well thought out at all, if you ask me."

Marguerite was flattered by his sweet compliments. He seemed sincere enough, she thought to herself, and it had been a while since she had kept in the company of a man. His gentleness and compliments were a welcomed change from the events of the day.

Percy slowly took off his gloves and tucked them into the inside pocket of his coat. He interlaced his fingers and rested them in front of him, leaning forward to get a better view of his company. "So Marguerite. What do you suggest is the house's best wine and meal? I will not pretend to even understand this menu placed before me."

"Well Percy, there is no need for a menu here." Marguerite smiled and waved to the waitress as she passed, "Callie, two of my usual and a bottle of the finest wine you have." Marguerite leaned into the table closer to her new friend, "Besides, the food here is far from the highlight. I'm sure compared to what you usually eat this will seem like scarps and the wine like tart juice."

In a way, he was testing her. As he did to everyone over time. Sir Percy knew no other language other than English, and that facade he would have to continue for now. If their meetings turned out well, he would be glad to share with Marguerite the real Blakeney. That was down the path however. She would understand his seemingly ignorance when the time came.

Something struck Marguerite as odd as she recosidered what he had said. "So then tell me Percy, why would you go to the theatre here in France if you did not understand the language?"

"Tis not such a hard thing to contemplate, is it Mlle.? The English have always enjoyed the Opera and foreign plays. I will not pretend to understand Italian anymore than I do German or French. If it is a good production, with outstanding actors," he made a gesture with his hand to Marguerite, in means of a compliement, "one can usually figure out the story without the need of an exact translation."

Marguerite smiled at yet another compliment. Compliments from admirers always tended to bore her after a while. After all, how many times can a girl hear how pretty her eyes are before it gets old. But Percy was sweet, and sincere, and more crafty with his words. She could tell he wa not the usual male admirer.

She was clever. Damn bright and sharp. He liked that about her even more. She caught onto nearly every move he was making or word he spoke. It was all fine with him. Her attentiveness would keep him sharp. "Tart juice eh? Tis not the sort of thing I can say I've had before, but I'll give it a go." He smiled at her and leaned more forward, letting his hand drape across the table towards her.

"Yes," Marguerite replied, "and the tart juice is even worse." she smirked and playfully flinched her eyebrows as she too rested her hands on the table, just slightly away from his, just to see how he would react.

Blakeney's pulse raced now. He now understood what his friends had been vainly telling him all along. What was this flirtatiousness that he was trying to embark on? His blue eyes soared deeply into her green and every primal urge was telling him that he was reading her signs correctly. She liked him being there. "I will try to avoid it then." he managed, taking note as she moved her hand closer his when he placed it near.

Marguerite continued to play with her eyes as she noticed him looking into them, as if he was trying to read her. She wondered what, if anything, he could see in her eyes.

Sir Percy glanced around the bistro, which seemed to be filling up with many French looking regular Citoyens. "What exactly did you order Marguerite? You must come here quite often with one such as me I fear." Glancing into her eyes, Blakeney was looking to read if he was just another flavor of the month... or as he hoped... a little something more.

Marguerite paused before softly continuing, "I come here quite often, but never with someone like you before." Marguerite could feel her heart begin to pound a little harder inside her chest as she became more enthralled with the Englishman. "I spend my days thinking, my evenings working, and my nights enjoying myself, with good friends and good company."

His felt his face slightly reddening as he did not take his eyes off her gaze, but reached out and touched her finger tips with his own. Maddening. He couldn't even remember what he had started to say. Instead, he sat there quiet and smiled. Blakeney felt as if he were back on the high seas, with his father at the helm and his mother looking over the starboard side. This felt very comfortable. This felt right.

Marguerite let a soft smile once again cross her mouth as she felt the tips of his long hands touch hers. Slowly, she moved her fingers against his and gently slid them, one by one, in between his. She was taken by this man as none of her other so called admirers had been able to do. She couldn't bare even to blink for that would require breaking her gaze into his eyes and way from his sweet smile, his strong jaw, the cute dimple. . .

After a few more minutes of his quietness, the waitress brought over the wine and meal. Blakeney did not let go his loose grasp of her hand however. He moved their arms away from the food, and then, still keeping her gaze, brought his lips down and kissed gently her fingertips. Watching her for any signs of acceptance or rejection.

Armand Chauvelin had arrived at the theatre late -- only during intermission had he been able to find his way into the audience. The news he had for after the show no doubt would have easily excused his tardiness -- except that after the show, he had been informed that Mlle. St. Just had only just left. And so he had strolled easily down to get a bite to eat, perhaps, and to think. He would see her another day, he knew, and information kept.

Chauvelin had been seated for two hours, engrossed in a letter he was writing. No one here was stupid enough to pry into his personal affairs -- anyone's personal affairs, for that matter -- and he could therefore freely put to paper what he normally would never say in public. He missed home dreadfully, but things here were indeed looking up --

Had it not been for the fact that Percy gently lifted her arm to make room for the plates of cold meat, cheeses, and pastries, Marguerite would no thave noticed that callie had returned with their meal. In fact, at this point it was as if nothing else in the world existed. There was only the tall, handsome Englishman, and her. And then he moved, he bent down and let his lips brush the tips of her fingers. Marguerite gasped as she felt the exciiting tingling sensation rush from her fingertips straight to her heart. Margeurite gently took her fingers from hers but instead of retracting them, she let her fingers brush against his smooth, warm cheek.

For quite a few minutes, now, they had been seated only ten feet from him. Hearing her voice, he had smiled, and almost stood to go and greet her, but there was someone else ... some other company. And as he carefully watched the small party, he broke the fragile tip of his split pen and irrepairably damaged the letter he had spent such effort on.

He took out another sheet of paper, his jaw only slightly clenched. Perhaps she would notice him, perhaps not; he had been very foolish to allow himself to be distracted from the subject of his letter, in any case. She, his recipient, he knew, would never cease to think about him, and he found more than a little comfort in his own thoughts.

Seeing her facial expression react so, Blakeney could not tell if she liked his formalness or if he was being too forward with the lady. The smile fell completely off his face, as if some passerby had taken a rag and wiped it clean. She was pulling back her fingers. He took her hand and she spread his wide fingers to place her small ones in- between. The kiss made her retract and she was withdrawing her fingers from his! He was alarmed.

No sooner had the fast blink of an instant happened, then he was relieved. She was stroking his cheek as if to comfort the small worrying child inside. He looked at her, the candlelight flickering against the soft features of her face and his smile returned. "Thank you Marguerite." His voice was soft as Blakeney was not used to actually courting a woman he cared for.

Marguerite gave him a gentle smile as she continued to stroke his cheek. His soft voice barely reached her ears and she wondered, was he at all nervous? Surely a man such as himself had plenty of opportunity to be with other women. After, he smart handsome, charming, seemed intellegent and witty, not too mention the fact that judging by his dress he and the fact that he had a title, probably rather wealthy.

After the words escaped his lips, he realized how foolish he must sound. Leaning back, he lifted his glass of wine and gave a louder toast to make up for his near whisper. "Long live the theatre!" He wasn't sure why he said it, but he was trying to be charming and it was coming off ridiculous instead. He surprised himself and delved into silence once more, bringing the wine to his lips, smelling the liquid first and then taking a long drink.

The loud shout shocked Margeurite. He must just be acting out a bit of nervousness she had reasoned. The bistro, hearing the shout apporved and appluaded, along with Marguerite. Many of the regular patrons here worked in small theatres in Paris and dined here after evening performances. Marguerite watched as the ittle band on the stage continued to play out music and many patrons took turns singing for the crowd.

Setting the glass down, trying to restore some of the confidence from his outburst, Blakeney looked at Marguerite with a hard stare. "I am disappointed," he made his voice cold and low. "You are wrong you realize, Marguerite." He crossed his arms and tightened his jaw, narrowing his eyes a little at her.

Holding the dead pan face, he spoke after silenced passed on his part, "It tastes nothing like tart juice. In fact, I have tasted plenty a tart juice in my time and this fails by comparison. Why, this is excellent French wine." His act melted away and he broke into a jovial smile and an outlandish laugh. Shaking his head, he winked at her. "And to think, I had my heart and pallet set on tart juice!"

Marguerite let out a silly laugh. "Well I am sorry to hear that Sir. If you really desire I could ask Callie to bring the tart juice and to hold the sugar." Relieved that his disappointment was in jest, Marguerite laughed again at him before picking up a small pastry and raising it near his face. "Well, I hope that do not serve to disappoint, they are some of the best sweets in this section of Paris."

Blakeney liked her laugh. Everything about her spoke honesty and fun. He liked fun. He thought he might like to have some fun with her and she responded happily in turn. Glancing at the precarious pastry, Blakeney was not sure if she was offering him to take a bite, or just showing it to him. "La, it looks wonderful Mlle. Marguerite. I see it, and will not argue with you that this section of Paris bakes the best."

He leaned back in his chair and glanced around the bistro. People had been eating and drinking. Some wrote down letters on papers and some read books. Across the way, about 10 feet behind Marguerite, he met a few times the gaze of a quiet man dressed in black. It started to dawn on him that his fine coat, top hat, cane, gloves.... why he stuck out worse here than in the theatre. It was a very informal place and Blakeney wondered if he should not have approached the lady on this night dressed up instead in one of his causual French costumes. No. He was courting for himself this time! Not for information from other personas such as Fuelier or Nevin.

Marguerite wondered why he suddenly pulled back from her and began to look around the room. Did something, or someone, else catch his eye?

Picking up his napkin methodically, he layed it on his lap and waited for St. Just to begin eating before he would start. His eyes glanced over to the French patrons on a make-shift stage that seemed intent on being the unhired entertainment for the evening. Some of the songnotes hit made Blakeney cringe. He smiled over at Marguerite. "Charming place, say?"

Marguerite laughed, "The more wine you drink the better they will sound." Marguerite once again offered the pastry, holding it closer to his face to see what he would do, "Come now, I'm sure you are just as famished as I am, don't you want a taste of the pastry?"

He blinked and looked back to her. She had put that near him. Why? Why on earth would she want to feed him like a mother does to a child? Unsure of why she wanted to do this, Blakeney leaned back forward and looked at her. He then looked to the pastry and glanced around the room.

He felt damn silly and brought his eyes back to her and the pastry. If she wanted to do this, he would placate her. He opened his mouth to take a bite.

Marguerite giggled and took a bit of the other end of the pastry. "There now, isn't it tasty?" Marguerite leaned in and whispered, "Food wise it's the only thing worth coming here for." Marguerite giggled, "Such a modest gentleman it seems I have tongiht."

He nearly spit the food out of his mouth. Hearing her at first, he thought nothing of the pasty other than she was doing some odd female behavior and he went along. When she started to nibble on the other end same time as he, whispering near his ear, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Swallowing instead of gagging, Blakeney looked at the very forward woman before him. How old was she anyway? She certainly now brought out the young man in him. Good God! What on earth was going on inside of him? He gave a cocky look at her and grinned. "An English gentleman is the only way I know, Mlle. However, I am very interested in taking more of these leasons of yours. Very interested." Without saying another word, he leaned in and bit off more of the pastry, his blue eyes never waviering from her own.

Marguerite gave a soft coy smile as she watched Percy. She thought the she had sort of thrown him with her actions, but chuckled to herself at his last comment. She leaned in closer and softly said, "Well then Percy, I guess I'll just have to acquint you with some of the world's less modest and humble places."

She wrapped a slice of meat inside a piece of cheese and once again offered it to him in a playful manner.

What was she doing? This was possibly the most preposterous behavior he had ever experienced over a meal with a lady! Blakeney was not sure what she meant with the "acquaint you with some less modest places". It made his head spin to just think what she could be implying.

He was obviously not used to these types of customs and rituals, but being a good sport, he leaned forward to take a bit of the food. He kept watching her, wondering if she was going to try and start on the other end.

Marguerite watched his eyes. She wondered if she and her french charm and ease were working on the nervousness of Percy. She continued to smile and offer him the food. As he bit on the food she moved her hand so that the back of it would brush against his cheek.

The intimacy the that were able to obtain despite their surroundings, was suddenly broken when she heard her name called out by several voices behind her. Several of the musicians and other guests in the restuarants were calling for her attention, asking in french for her to share a song with them. Being a popular actress and a frequent visitor in the bistro, many people there knew here and on many occassions she joined her friends on stage to sing and laugh, but tonight she had no desire to leave her guest. Marguerite turned to see the friends beconing but she shook her head. In her native french she answered back, "Not tonight my friends, don't you see I have a guest, I wouldn't want him to feel abandoned. I promise you a song tomorrow night."

He closed his eyes, feeling the soft touch of her fingers on his cheek again. Blakeney throughly enjoyed this. He smiled again at Marguerite and swallowed the meat and cheese.

He glanced over where she looked when she turned her head and he sat back upright. He understood them of course, but these new sensations filling his body made him forgetful of Sir Percy's ignorance of the French language. Hearing her answer back in French, Blakeney looked at her and urged her on in the English tongue. "Why don't you go and join them? I seriously hope you would not let an old bloke like me hold you back from the normal evening activities with your friends."

"No, no, no, my dear Percy. They want a song, but I do not want to leave you," Marguerite smiled and reached up to touch his cheek again, "I promised them a song another night." Marguerite blushed at the sudden attention from the others there that night.

A devilish plan entered his head, listening to her. He knew she could act, he had watched her act all along and she entranced him. But sing? This could be fun.

"Leave me? I promise I will not move from this spot if you will join your friends. In fact, I promise to even enjoy listening."

Marguerite smiled and blushed. She reached for adn gave his hand a lighgt squeeze before turning away from him and rising from her seat. Several of her friends cheered as she approached the stage. She began to address the audience, in french, "Now, now, just one song." A few 'awwws' went up from the crowd but she continued "No, no, no, I have a guest here tonight," she said as she motioned to Percy, "He is quiet handsome and charming, and I mustn't stay here long, for I fear someone may try to sweep him away from me. Such treasures are hard to come by, yes?"

Sir Percy leaned back in his chair and drapped his arm lazily across the back. His foppish mannerisms hid over the laughter in his heart. She was going to get up and sing in front of everyone. Not something he could ever do. Sing or otherwise.

Many people laughed and a few people, ladies in particular, glanced over to the table were Percy was sitting, "But I promise you now one song, and I will come back another night to back up for only one tonight."

He knew she was pointing him out, but after his almost caught error, Blakeney made sure he made no indication of knowing a word she said. She called him handsome. Charming. Hmmm... not bad Blakeney. He put on a small smile and remained content and still, watching Marguerite.

Marguerite whispered the name of a tune to the man sitting at the little piano. The pianist played a soft sweet tune, much unlike the upbeat songs earlier in the evening. As she sang a sweet song of love, she looked at Percy, never breaking her gaze with him. Although he claimed not to have understood the language, she was sure he could understand waht was coming from her heart.

The cocky smile on the Englishman's face slowly fadded away with each new stanza Marguerite sang. This was no hotty toddy song, it was a song of love. She was looking at him and serenading him. Love. Bah! What did he know of love? Yet, she was enchanting him like the Siren did to men on boats.

He had to remind himself several times to not ask her why she choose this song. "Its Greek Percy... its nothing more than some language of Greek. She isn't singing to you... just for you. It is a song. No more. No less." He talked to himself in his head to convince. The sweet symphony of sounds that emerged from her lips landishly surrounded him. Blakeney could not help himself but to remain still in his chair. He could not have moved if he choose too, so frozen by her power.

The song ended, and it seemed as if the world had stopped. Marguerite drew in a deep breath as many friends offered applause, she nodded and motioned to some of the others there up onto the stage to take her place as she left to sit back down at her table.

It took the loud applause of the crowd to finally break the spell put upon him. Glancing around, seeming perhaps disinterested in what she had just done, Blakeney stood and put on a simple smile on his face. "Bravo! Bravo!" He clapped and gave his single one-man standing ovation.

Marguerite stepped down as more upbeat music started again. She worked her way through the crowded tables ignore everything but Percy, until someone caught her eye. At a table not far behind hers and Percy's there was a familiar face. Marguerite noted Citizen Chauvelin sitting alone at a table. She nearly froze as she passed by his glance, but she would not let his stare overcome her. Determined to reach Percy she nodded at him and turned her eyes away to avoid his gaze, heading straight for her seat.

Just as he was about to give another round of cries of 'Bravo' he opened his mouth and nothing came out. He watched her grace slowly coming towards him, but then something odd happened. He was not even sure what really. Just some strange feeling watching her a quick passing between two people. The man in black, the very man who's eye he had caught a few times earlier, and Marguerite had a moment. Was he imagining it? Probably. The man had meet Blakeney's gaze a few times, why did this bother him so?

Brushing it off as his nerves on finally taking the lady out to dinner, he returned to the strong applause. When she neared him again, Blakeney moved over to her side of the table to hold her chair out in the manner of a gentleman.

Marguerite smiled and sat down in the chair Percy had pulled out for her, her back to Chauvelin. She waited for him to be setted before leaning in on the table with her arms crossed in front ooof her, nervously rubbing her arms. "Well then Percy, did you like my song?"

He smiled, his eyes glancing for a moment behind her at the man in black. Nerves. It had to have been his nerves. Sitting down, he tilted his head slightly watching her. "Are you cold Mlle. Marguerite?" He glanced down at his navy blue coat. "It may not be much in way of fashion for you, but it will keep you warm if you desire." He gestured to his coat and began to stand up to take it off.

Mlle. Marguerite did not shake off his gesture, so he moved over galliently to her side and drapped it across her shoulders. "There now. That has to be much better." He smiled down at her and reached for her hand. He was getting much better at this with someone he wished to impress.

Marguerite silently accepted his coat, although she was not cold. The only chill in her body was from the odd stare of Citizen Chauvelin. As he placed the coat over her, he gently rubbed her shoulders in a reassuring way. He probably had no idea how much that helped to calm her nerves.

Keeping a hold of her hand, Blakeney sat back down, clad now in his black pants with the red and white stripe, and his white tailor made silk shirt. The lace carvat neatly layed down from his neck. Taking her hand in his two, he rubbed it gently to produce friction.

"I enjoyed your singing very much Mlle." He smiled, liking the idea of her in his clothes. It was all very absurd logically, but he was not thinking like that at the moment. "You could easily capture the heart of any man here with your luring voice. Like the Sirens you are. Say whot? Shall I call you 'my little Maeve'? The goddess of song?"

Blakeney smiled and watched her, to see how she would receive his outlandish, but sincere, compliment.

"Your little Maeve," Marguerite mused as she moved her other hand to brush against his, "I don't beleive I have ever recieved such a sweet name before." Marguerite ran her hand over his and tightly held on to his as he continued to rub and warm the fingers of the hand he had been holding.

He smiled. All was going grand. He released one of his two hands on her and turned to look for the waitress. Not able to catch her eyes, he stood again and winked down at Marguerite. "If I might reach into my jacket a moment Mlle.?" Such an opportunity. Ah, the life of a gentleman is a strict one. Too bad.

He excused himself from her soft grasp and pulled the coat slightly away from her, reaching down into the left inner most pocket where he produced French money for the bill. Not thinking anything of it, he put down more than enough and looked back to Marguerite. "This has been a most wonderful evening meeting your aquaintance Mlle. I am wondering if you will allow me the honor to escort you home."

Marguerite turned her head nad carfeully watch him as he searched in his coat. He did not remove it from her, only pulled to back to find the pocket he was looking for. Maguerite trembled as she watched his hands move so close to her. She watched as he puled out a large amount of money, much more then he needed, and left it on the table. Was he trying to show off his money? If so, she was not impressed. Money did not impress her. Perhaps he wasn't paying attention, perhaps he did not know French money well, perhaps he was just a good tipper.

She still wore his jacket and he liked that. Blakeney had gathered his gloves, top hat and cane and held them tucked under one arm. With his free hand, he reached over to take her hand and help her up.

Marguerite smiled and took his hand. Suddendly it struck her how late is was. She looked at a clock against the wall and realized that she was out much later then she expected that evening. It would not have mattered except that her brother might have been waiting up for her, being that she had told him she did not expect to be so late today.

Marguerite stood up and lookd into his eyes again, "Of course you may escort me home, but, I'm afraid you are forgetting something."

The smile on his face straighted out in utter confusion. "Forgetting something?" He looked at her. He hadn't waited for a bill and mindlessly tossed down money to cover whatever it could possibly be. She wore his coat, which he hoped she would wear as he walked or carriage rode her home. He glanced behind him, he had his cane, gloves and hat. What possible was she speaking of.

Shaking his head, still confused, Blakeney looked down into her green eyes, hoping she would give him a clue.

Marguerite could see that he was puzzled. "You keep refering to me as 'Mlle.' I thought we had cleared that up earlier in the evening." Marguerite gave a cheerful wink a she started towards the door.

She was simply, without a doubt, the most amazing and highly gumptioned woman he had ever met. One look, that wink, and he broke back into his relaxed smile. She played him like a violin and he welcomed it.

Quickly following her, Blakeney offered his arm and smiled down as they walked. "You will have to forgive me Marguerite, or rather my newly found Maeve." She took a liking to this as much as he took a liking to her. He had not really wanted to leave her company so soon, but an anxiousness was persistant inside of him that demanded an answer.

The sooner he took leave of her at her home, the sooner he would know where she lived. And, more importantly, if she wanted to see him again.

Marguerite smiled and took his arm once he caught up to her. Once outside, she wrapped her arm in a clingy sort of mannor and stood close to him as they walked down the street. In no hurry to leave his company, she heading in the direction of the longer route. It cut through the park and was the more scenic route anyway.

He glanced down at her when she wrapped herself and his coat around his torso. This experience was full of surprises tonight. So used to the hum drum games of English customs in courtship, he did not know how to react. Yes, Blakeney was well traveled in his youth. He saw many a tribes, customs and ways of numerous groups of people. He never practiced any of them. Only the British way of courting fancy ladies, which he found boring and mundane.

Marguerite, the little Maeve goddess, left his every inhibition back at the bistro. She was forward, flirtatious, crafty, witty, outspoken and definitely a rare find in beauty and talent. Blakeney had come this way tonight to see if he could find himself a potential bride. Never did he expect, nor did he realize, that he was falling in love.

As she led him through the park, he found the setting to be something from a myth or childhood storybook. Every action she gave, from her small tight grasp around his mid-section to her resting her head along his arm, spoke of silent acceptance. He was not sure, but something underlying was happening between them. He swore on his parent's grave that what he felt was true.

Still having no idea where they were going, Blakeney found his long legs leading them towards a misty clearing amongst the trees. He did not speak, but something drove him to do this. Reaching down, facing her, he placed her hand on his shoulder and placed his hand under his coat to rest upon her waist. He did not release her right hand in his, but rather brought it up in the ballroom stance he was so accustomed too.

"The evening would not be fully complete, unless I lead my little Maeve in a dance. May I?" His lazy blue eyes smiled down at her. He swore he already knew her answer.

Marguerite smiled up at her handsome Percy as she gently squeezed his hand. "Of course you may my Percy." Marguerite gave another playful laugh as he began to lead her in a dance through the clearing. "You had become so quiet I was wondering what you were thinking."

"Only thinking of how lucky a night this must be as, at best, I hoped only to speak a few words to the one I watched from afar. And now? Now, I alone capture the extreme pleasure of this dance." He straighted himself up and cleared his throat. Feeling a little self concious, especially after her singing performance, he warned, "I can not enchant the fangs off a snarling dog like you, my Maeve, but I will certainly have my best go at it."

Marguerite smiled as she pulled herself closer to him, resting her tired head on his tall shoulder. She just simply fell into his pattern of steps as she gazed off, her mind in a world of fantasy that she had the pleasure of living out.

It started as a weak murmur in his throat. He was much better at dancing and began to lead her to her right. Once getting over the initial feeling of silliness, Blakeney let the murmur in his throat become more audible where it turned into a louder rumble. The man was desperately trying to provide her with music by means of an off- key hum.

Marguerite smiled at Percy's attempt to hum. Familar to the tune, Marguerite softly began to hum along with Percy. As the song continued to grow and become more upbeat, Marguerite forced him to spin around more wildly, unlike he probably had ever dance before. Smiling and giggling she did not remember having so much fun with someone like this before.

Suddenly, a nearby clock tower struck on the hour. Marguerite stopped to listen to the chimes, and was shocked when she heard the final one, she did not realize the time had gotten so late. A while had passed even since she and Percy had left the bistro.

Hearing her join in only encouraged him to hum more horribly louder. Blakeney was no musician. Appreciate it.... yes. Perform it? Rain drenched cats on London's foggy streets would sound better. When she began to spin him about, he smiled. When she began to giggle and laugh, he joined her.

Hearing the demmed clock acting like an unwanted chaperon, Blakeney looked down to watch Marguerite become seemingly alarmed. "Well, I suppose your parents will begin to worry where you are and why you have spend most of the bloody night out with an old English bloke such as me." He stopped dancing and smiled down at her. This was the time and like a snake, he struck. "Will they allow me to see you again, regardless how I have kept you out so late?" He slyly slipped that in there, waiting on her very words for a response.

Marguerite felt a lump grow in her throat that she quickly swallowed once he mentioned her parents. With a shaky voice she answered, without looking at him, "No. No, my parents have both passed on." She had pulled away from him when the clock had struck but for some reason absently reached out for his hand again. "My brother sometimes waits for me though, he gets neverous when I am not home when he expects."

He meant no harm. It was his attempt at meeting her flirtatious ways and he failed. Judging by her quick change in mood, Blakeney nodded, wanting to be rid of the misery he may just have caused her. Both her parents had passed on. Him too. He was older though. Probably already lived out half his life so it was not unusual for parents to be dead at his age. He did not get an answer about future meetings, and somehow, he could not bring himself to say a word.

Marguerite looked back at him, "It is not too much farther from here." and she started off in the direction of her home.

He patted her hand and straightened himself up. Nodding again, he walked next to her. The magic of the night air gone. "Yes," he finally replied. "But of course."

Marguerite grabbed onto his hand as she walked silently beside him. It was not so much the thoughts of her parents, they had passed on long ago, but the thoughts of Armand that got to her. Tonight had been so perfect she did not want to listen to his badgering and questioning tonigt.

They turned the final corner and Marguerite watched as the door to her building grew closer. Just before the reached it, Marguerite let go of Percy's hand and whispered "Wait here!" to him. She checked the street before hopping out to the middle of it. Looking up, she scanned a series of windows on the third floor. Seeing that the windows were all dark, Marguerite gave a sigh of relief. Armand had not waited up for her and did not know how late she was coming in. Of course she was older and an independent woman, but she hated to cause him worry.

She rejoined Percy on the curb for the remainder of the walk.

He was not sure what the whole little ritual of hers was. Then again, he was not so sure of why he had to bring something up like her parents that made her mood change. He watched where she looked, up towards the top of the building. Then she rejoined him.

Stopping outside the front of the door, the couple held hands for a moment longer. Sensing this was her door, Blakeney gently lifted her hand up to his lips and kissed her fingertips. She still bore his coat and in the moonlight, looked wonderfully sad in it.

Deciding that he could always "pretend" to forget the coat, he did not make a move to take it off her, nor did he even try and draw any attention to it. He was trying to work in a way to see her again. "Thank you for the wonderful evening Mme. Marguerite." He spoke formally. His mind raced with an idea to say something witty or clever to make up for before, but nothing came to mind.

Marguerite smiled, "Thank you for dinner, Sir Percy." Marguerite smiled and stood on her toes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

He suddenly felt really sad. Her flirtatious ways had vanished. She was addressing him as formally as he had just addressed her. Although she kissed his cheek, he knew he wanted to be back eating a pastry on one end, with her on the other. This just did not feel right.

Marguerite reached on hand down searching for the hidden pocket of her skirt which held her keys all without breaking her gaze with Percy. After finally giving up, giggling at her failure, she looked down for the pocket and realized she was still in Percy's fine coat. "Oh," she exclaimed, "You nearly forgot your coat. I wouldn't want you to go without." Marguerite peeled the coat of her shoulders and held it open for Percy to put it back on.

No. This was not going well at all. He was an old English Brit and she was a young and beautiful French talent. Deep down he feared this very thing would happen. He nodded to her in his stoic British manner as he took the coat back and slipped it back on. Wouldn't you know? Now he could smell her on his coat! Simply maddening!

Shortly after she found the pocket and her keys. She was disappointed the night must end, but was not about the let go of the happy evening she had just had, "Thank you again, for tonight, Percy." Marguerite smiled as she put her key in the door and turned it. As she pushed the door open, she turned to Percy and said, "I will be performing again tomorrow night at the theatre. Can I expect you to be in attendance?"

His eyes followed her up the stairs, and he stood perfectly still like an oak tree. Each soft step her foot touched, he envied that part of the concrete. As she thanked him again, he put on his top hat and bowed to her formally. At least he would walk away with his pride and dignity still in tact. Watching her just about to enter, Marguerite stopped and turned back to face him. His lazy blue eyes lit up. "I will be performing again tomorrow night at the theatre. Can I expect you to be in attendance?" He could feel the excitement of the evening returning like floodwaters. All the way down into his toes!

"Yes Mlle. I would not miss it for all the tea in London." He smiled broadly again and began to put on his gloves. "Please, have sweet dreams..... my little Maeve......"

The Morning After
Back