BACK IN A FLASH III A Shadow of a Doubt

What to do? His worried blue eyes glanced at the other patrons to the downstairs kitchenette area. He felt utterly helpless sitting alone all dressed up ready to leave like he was. Alone, with only a steaming bowl of cheese and wilted vegetable soup to keep him company in the French Inn. The lightening thundered outside, seemingly to mock his sorrowful mood.

Earlier, when the clock struck 7:00, he came forth from his room like a strutting cock in one of the most smartest outfits he owned. Dark brown formal pants over black riding boots. A faint yellow shirt with matching lace cravat. The vest he wore was made from the purest of chiffon and bore dark brown stripes that zig zagged across the surface in the most dashing of manners. His hair, he felt a little daring this evening, was pulled off to one side where a few strands on the other side could not be contained. He let those uncaptured strands fall loosely about his eyes and tucked what he could behind his ear. He felt feral and smiled at the look.

Giving himself the once, twice and thrice-over, he forewent the gloves and cane tossing them onto the bed. Feeling a bit more dashingly this evening, the want of freedom to touch her hand without the inhabitation of cloth or cane became more dominate. Yes, Blakeney had to admit tonight he wore the style of an Englishman after a long fox hunt. Bold and strong. Elegant, but with the slightest hint of his inner wolfish self sneaking through. She was going to simply go mad over him. How could she not?

All that preparation now gone to waste. All the foolish thoughts he allowed himself to think as he paced in his room like a caged animal waiting for the hour to leave to be struck by the clock. What good did it do him? He still received the note to not come meet her all the same.

In all honesty, he did not think the cancellation was some ploy to get rid of him. Still, the Baronet wondered at it all. They had been together now almost two long glorious weeks. Marguerite smelled more like enchanting roses with each passing new day. Her kisses were becoming more and more a staple in his daily routine that he must have, less he felt a day gone by horrid without one. Unfortunately, it appeared that today was going to complete itself in such a wasteful manner.

Looking back at the clock, the hands now laughed at Blakeney telling him it was only 7:32. He pulled out the note that arrived 30 minutes ago by messenger and read it for the fourth time. How foolish he felt descending the steps of the Inn, all dressed up like the rooster he was only to turnaround and go back upstairs. He could not even finish eating his soup and stared up and outside the Inn window. Thinking of her, he watched the rain fall down and listened to its loud beating efforts upon the rooftop.

The pounding rain outside her window echoed painfully inside Marguerite's aching head. In a vain attempt to shut the noise out, she buried her head under her pillow, but to no avail. The flu bug that had been being passed about the theatre had found its way to Marguerite and forced her to bed for the night.

Her head throbbed, her body ached, and her throat was so hoarse that the only noise she could make was a hoarse whisper. She laid in the dark room of her empty flat with only the constant pounding of raindrops to console her. Not even Armand was here that night, Marguerite had sent him to stay with friends to keep him from becoming ill so shortly before his exams for school.

Though it was not the pain in her head or her stiff muscles that bothered her the most that evening. That night she was to perform at the theatre, and Marguerite hated to miss a performance, but even more so this evening. Sir Percival Blakeney was to be there again to watch her and afterwards join her for dinner. About an hour ago she had sent the note to the inn where he was staying. Short and simple, she stated she would not be able to meet him tonight, she only hoped that he had gotten the note before he left for the theatre, so he would note be so surprised when her understudy went on, nor would he be expecting her after the show.

Lying in bed, she felt her stomach turn. She had not eaten early in the day when the flu was only beginning to come on, but now she was famished, but decided to remain still in bed and suffer through the upset stomach as opposed to upsetting her aching muscles trying to find something to eat in her cupboard. Being that she had spent so much time with other things this past week, she had not been to the market, and Armand had taken to dipping into her small purse to get a few francs for food as he needed it, so there was little chance for much to eat anyway.

A few flashes of lightening lit her room. In the flashes, she could see the time, 7:45. Call was being made for tonight's performance now. Marguerite wondered if Percy was at the theatre waiting for her to come on or if he had gotten her note as she continued to try in vain to shut out the noise of the storm.

The hour crept along at a snail's pace and the Baronet toyed more with the soup before him that was growing cold. France was a dismal place when it rained. The city of Paris seemed dark as he stood now, leaving the bowl of food on the table. He glanced out the window and watched the rain come down. The force of it lightened and the rain slowed to a gentle but persistent trickle.

He heard a bustling behind him and a young girl asked in broken English if he was finished. Sir Percy watched the girl, almost replied in French but caught himself in time. He gave instead a stern nod while biting his tongue and waved the bowl away.

Watching the rain drizzle down forming puddles and what not in the streets, he thought about Marguerite. There would be no receiving of a kiss this evening, nor having the pleasure of the visual beauty before him. He had not thought he stood in front of the window for such a long period of time, but he had been trapped inside his own thoughts. Broken from the question of why Marguerite would tell him she would not be at the theatre this evening and that he should enjoy himself without her he felt something pull at his side. He glanced down at the tug on his waistcoat to see the small girl return, holding up to him an old ragged umbrella. The thing had seen better days and he wondered if it kept the rain off as much as it let the rain in. He smiled and shook his head no to her.

Turning around, moving near the fireplace, he watched as the room slowly emptied. His pride at the lost date was slightly scathed, but still in tact. He glanced up at the clock again. 8:12. Still too early to turn in and call it a night. Moving about the room in his languid fashion, Blakeney's eyes watched the small girl wiping down tables and fixing the room for the morning meals. She tried to hand him an umbrella...

He puzzled over the insane thought of checking up on Marguerite. Surely she would not be "entertaining privately", though in love his insecure mind did ponder the thought. Marguerite and he just met. Who is to say she did not have a prior engagement that she committed too long before their recent unions? He pulled out the note to re-read again and pondered this new thought. It still made no sense. Mlle. St. Just never struck him as the type who would miss an evening of performing, no matter what the occasion afterwards might be. Blakeney paced a few more steps around the fire pit and then turned, heading straight up to his room.

He returned in a matter of minutes, with his own fine and decorative black umbrella in his bare hands. He still forwent the cane, gloves and any type of hat. With the intense curiosity of a cat for the unknown, he took long strides and exited the Inn. Feeling the gentle and steady drizzle, he opened the rain blocker and began to stroll across town towards the flat where she lived.

A few times, he found himself stopping on a street corner and questionings his motives and actions. If she did not want to see him, why could he not just accept this for an answer? Did he really need to walk across town for a visiting peek at her apartment? "Just stand across the street and see if her light is on." He finally convinced himself that this was more than acceptable and hummed off key as he approached the street her flat was on. Searching the upper windows as she had once before, it dawned on him he did not know which window exactly was hers.

Chuckling his own actions now, for his legs were damp from the rain, Blakeney's blue eyes searched to see if any lights on that floor were on. Perhaps he had just made this whole trip for nothing, but he insisted in his mind that he would stand there until his courage finally summoned to figure out a way in.

Even with the pounding rain and crashing thunder, every little noise she heard seem magnified inside her aching head. Try as she might to shut everything else, every little piece of noise added to driving her towards a sense of insanity. The ticking of her table clock, the wheels of passing carriages on the cobblestone street below, and the loud voices of one of her neighbors was not helping her either. Finally, after burying her head under several more pillows Marguerite nearly fell asleep until ear piercing scream roused her yet again. Marguerite shot up at the sound, which she quickly regretted as pain sot through nearly all of her aching muscles. She immediately recognized the screams of little Jenna, no doubt returning home with her mother for the evening, frighten by the thunder and lightening. Marguerite only hoped that Jenna would soon fall asleep as opposed to making additional noise in the flat below.

Watching the woman and child coming down the street from the other direction, Blakeney did not recognize them as it was dark, but they headed right up the stairs to Marguerite's building. Seizing the opportunity, he called from across the street and splashed his way on over. Startling them, but not enough to scare, as his dress was more than acceptable, the mother and daughter stared at the Englishman as he spoke to them in his native tongue.

"Devil of a damp night, say? What luck though have I on this dreary eve!" He asked them briefly, "Say, I wish to pay a visit to Mlle. St. Just on the third floor. Can you tell me the number to the door that might be?" Sir Percy gave his most charming and friendly smile, resulting in the occupants of this building to grin as well. He knew the power of his looks on some from the opposite sex and used it now to appear the friendliest of blokes.

The warm face on Blakeney dressed in the fancy attire eased some fear the mother had, however she was not about to tell a perfect stranger information on the great actress. A small voice chirped from about three feet below his chin. "I know! 305! Armand lives there too!" Her mother did not seemed too pleased and gave Blakeney that look of embarrassment as her daughter blurted it out. Winking at the mother, he glanced down at the child beaming proudly in front of him.

Seeing her up close, Blakeney wondered if it was the same little girl from a few days past in the stair well when he was kissing Marguerite. The girl zipped by in a flash, so he had not gotten a good look at her, nor her to him. Getting the room number, he smiled and followed them inside the small hallway. Reaching into his pocket, he thanked them both and pulled out a few coins which he pressed into the little girl's hands. Both her and her mother seemed delighted at his simple gesture.

The umbrella began to drip onto his shoes, so he brought it around full close and shook it gently at the floor. The girl and her mother already began their ascend, whispering amongst themselves as women tend to do. Blakeney waited until he could hear them no more and straightened his cravat. He glanced down at his soaked shoes and pant legs, considered ringing them out, but it would only cause them to crease worse.

Taking a breath, his hand grasped on the railing and he slowly began to pull himself up. It was pitch black in the stairwell, and the only light offered in the hallway was when the lightening gave a flicker from a small window. Fumbling around in the dark, he found himself quietly putting his fingers on the nearest door, as if reading braille for the numbers put on there. 302. Wrong side of the hallway. Using the umbrella as his cane, he waved it out in front of him until the steel tip rat-a-tap tapped the other wall.

His fingers ran along the hallway, finding the molding of another door. 303. Okay, close. He wanted 305. Moving his way around in the dark, part of his mind was telling him these actions were absurd and unruly and the other half of him concentrated on finding 305. The reminder of how warm and tender her kisses felt up his lips was an easy winning argument. Needless to say, these thoughts of her warmth kept his fingers fondling the numbers on the next door he came across. 301. "Damn." His voice echoed softly in the dark hallway. He had enough of this blind foolishness and produced a flint box upon which he struck a match.

"Viva la flame." he mumbled and made his way back to 303 and finally 305 where he felt the small match threaten to singe his fingertips. Darkness once more, Blakeney found himself standing in front of her door as he brought his hand up to give it a slight knock. Pausing, he wondered what he was going to do had no one been to answer it or if she was not home and the younger brother Armand found him there instead. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard not a movement or sound from inside. "So be it," he whispered and let his knuckles rap repeatedly on the door loudly. Then all fell into silence.

Marguerite gave a loud grunt like noise, about all she could muster with her sore throat at the knock on the door. "Go away" she mumbled to herself as she tightly hugged a pillow to her aching head. "Maybe if I just stay here and don't move they'll go away." But they didn't Marguerite heard yet another knock on the door and forced herself out of bed.

Marguerite fumbled in the dark to lit a candle. She pulled a robe on tightly around her body. She knew she was probably burning up, but still could not manage to ward of an awful chill. Slowly she made her way to the door, lighting candles in the hallway on her way so she could easy find her way back to the room afterwards. Painfully she wondered who it was. Everyone she knows would have figured her to be at the theatre now, being the show had just started. It must be a neighbor, or perhaps on of Armand's friends.

As she passed by a mirror in the hall, Marguerite could not help but notice her own reflection. Her soft curly hair was a matted mess, and her cheeks were a bright red from the fever but the rest of her skin was pale. Marguerite held her head as walked slowly barefoot across the apartment to the front door. Marguerite pulled the door back to see Percy standing there, "Percy!" she exclaimed in what turned out only to be a hoarse whisper. Suddenly embarrassed by her lack of appropriate clothing, even though she was sure that would have embarrassed him more then it did her, she hid her body slightly behind the door. "What are you doing here?"

He was not sure what to expect if and when someone opened the door... but certainly his eyes were not meant for this! Almost immediately he brought a hand up to his face as he turned his head off to one side, so as to not gaze upon a lady in her nightgown and bed robe. "Pardon Maeve!" he gasped and felt his face redden, shielding his face from her view.

Unbeknownst to Mlle. St. Just, for the briefest of seconds in the darkness of the hallway, Blakeney gave a large smile at this situation. She was home. She sounded terribly, looked absolutely horrendous, while at the exact same time looking very natural, rosy pale and in a casual attire. Why, he could feel the thrill of Fuelier at Marguerite's appearance stir deep within, and quickly the gentleman tossed aside those impulsive thoughts.

"I, " he stammered a little. He couldn't help himself and he laughed. "I came to see if you were alright. I worried so when I got your note." He sort of glanced back at her, dropping his hand in the slightest of manners. He would never admit it, but Blakeney like the view put before him. Seeing her mostly tucked behind the door, he now dropped his hand completely and noted her very pale face and reddened eyes. "You are ill..." he said more as a statement than a question.

Marguerite sniffled a bit as she slide a bit more out from behind the door, mostly looking for nosy neighbors. when it seemed the coast was clear, she rubbed her eyes and pushed her unruly hair back from her face. She nodded and in as loud a voice as she could muster replied, "It seems as though the company flu has found its way to me."

Shaking his head, Blakeney smiled in the darkness, her apartment candles flickering across his broad cheekbones and strong chin. "So who in your company shall I go find and challenge the bloke to a dual of the fists for denying me my kiss and making you feel under the weather?" He smiled and glanced beyond her, trying to search out her apartment.

Marguerite weakly leaned against the door. She had only been standing for a few moments but those few moments were already taking their toll on her legs, not to mention her toes which were becoming numb from the cold draft blowing over her bare feet. "To do that you would need to take out half the company - even ill I think they could gang up and take you." Marguerite offered though she was in no mood for joking tonight, she really just wanted to go back to bed.

Seeing her lurch forward in such a weak manner, the gentleman quickly moved over to her side and took hold of her lower arm for support. "You poor dear." He rubbed her back and looked down into her face. Glancing around, he realized he was no longer in the hallway. "I hope the lady will do me the honor of inviting me in...." he could see his good natured humor was not really of importance to her. Blakeney could not help himself however. He tried to smile down at her but she looked ready to collapse.

"Maeve, please. Allow me to help you back to lie down. I can take leave of you if you wish then...." His blue eyes looked at her concerned, the front door still wide open as the other arm of Marguerite seemed to use it solely for support at this point. "You can send me on my way afterwards...." It wasn't really what he wanted, as his eyes searched out hers. The gentleman in him spoke now.

Marguerite, too tired and too hoarse to answer, simply nodded her head. Carefully, and tediously she took her other hand from the door and grabbed onto Percy's shoulder for support. In the few seconds she had no additional support, she nearly collapsed, but instead fell into Percy. She closed her eyes as she leaned her heavy head into normally warm chest, but the burn in her cheek that night made him seem ice cold.

The concern crossing his face increased when she collapsed literally, into him. He smiled as he now hung onto her. His mind raced with the wonder of it all. He came over and she needed him. How fitting in his mind!

He was taken out of his little world when Marguerite coughed and he leaned over to kiss her forehead. It was burning hot and he blinked back his surprise. "Let's get you lying down..." he glanced around, looking for a couch, bed, something. The place was too dark, so he followed the candle trail, and led her right into her bedroom. She was coughing more now and he worried more for her condition rather than where he was taking her. Had he stepped back from the situation as his gentleman self, he would never have first stepped into the apartment. All the luckier for Blakeney his mind did not follow him in.

Gently, he laid her down, staring at her lower bare legs when she turned to lie down. He did not watch for more than a second or two, but he was guilty of staring. His gloveless hand took hold of her blankets and brought them up and around her. Her hair was a tangled mess and he could not help himself but gently brush it off her hot and glowing face. He leaned in and kissed her forehead again. He looked around and improved to not have to leave so soon. Hearing her cough again, he quickly offered, "Some water Maeve? Can I get you some?"

Marguerite was almost in her own little world. She knew Percy was there, she knew she was somehow back in her room, but there was little else she knew. She heard him offer water and weakly nodded her head yes.

He watched her come in and out of consciousness, as it appeared to him. She wasn't even talking anymore and that was very un-female and ever more, very un-Marguerite like. His little trip out here for a kiss was not exactly happening but he could not say he minded. He had never been inside a lady's apartment like this.

It was obvious she was alone this even and needed help, yet he was hardly the person with bed side manners. He picked up the candle and made his way around her apartment. He would glance back, and see her lying there, shutting her eyes. He took his time and now explored any pictures on the walls and glanced over the furniture and little collected odds and ends.

Marguerite shut her eyes to block out the light of the single burning candle on her bedside table. She couldn't remember why she lit it, but didn't really care either. She gave a stiff yawn and stretch a little bit. Opening her eyes slightly she noticed she had laid down in her bed still with her rob on. Marguerite worked her way free of the sometimes bulky robe and pushed it out from under her bed sheets and heard it give a little thud as it landed on her floor. She pulled the soft sheets up around her and fell back into her pillows.

Making his way into the kitchen he searched until he found the jar of cool water. Uncorking the jug, he glanced around. A glass. A glass. He was not a man who knew his way around a kitchen. He was a man who knew his way in and out of a city, talking to prostitutes and making his way freeing prisoners.... he had servants for something so simple as a glass. He found a bowl. He found the cabinet that had something very interesting in it. He could never tell you what it was. Finally, a glass. Pouring the water by candlelight, he shook out his legs one by one, as they were now beginning to dry.

Blakeney made his way back to the bedroom and stopped seeing his reflection in the mirror. His hair, somewhat more feral looking now, had become victim to the elements of the weather and began to come completely untied now. The smart outfit he had on made him shrug at himself.

Dismissing the thought on himself, he entered her room again and shook her shoulder gently. "Maeve? Please hear me, this will make you feel better." He offered her a little water and then set the cup down next to the candle. Glancing about, he moved into the next room and brought forth an old wooden chair into her bedroom. He sat down in it and watched her.

Marguerite heard a familiar voice and saw a figure in the dark approach her. Opening her eyes once more she could see Percy in the darkness. She felt his arm slide behind her and support her ask he held a glass of water to her lips. She took some of it before he put it aside. As she watched him leave, she silently begged and pleaded with him not to go, but then he returned, with the little chair from the hallway. She watched him set the chair down near her bed and sit down. Marguerite smiled to herself as she watched a slightly blurred vision of Percy in the chair. Absently, she moved her hand to reach in the direction of Percy. She tired to say his name but only a short whisper was heard.

He sat down again in the chair, and noted her bare outstretched arm about the same time that his foot hit something soft on the floor. Taking her hand gently, Blakeney glanced down and saw the thick robe discarded like an old shoe. It clicked and his gaze shot quickly up at her, seeing the bed gown pushed back against her outstretched arm.

He could not break his gaze from the sight. Her skin was so light and pure, it shone in the candle light and he could not resist the urge. Kneeling down in front of her, he heard the attempt to whisper his name. It sent shivers up his spine and he began to slowly kiss the top of her hand. "Shhhh Maeve... " he whispered back. "Don't talk..." He watched her eyes with his own and kissed the top of her hand again. She looked so helpless and beautiful lying there, he found himself turning her hand over where he proceeded to kiss her wrist. His lips moved up a little ways on her arm, watching her the entire time. He tenderly pressed his lips against her seam of the elbow and closed his eyes. Even ill, she had a power over him and he turned his head and rested his cheek there.

She shivered under the feel of his cold lips against the top of her hand and desired nothing more then to hide from the chill of he house under her covers. Everything around her felt cold, even the tender touch of Percy's hand. Marguerite watched as Percy moved his lips up her bare arm. What was he doing? As out of it as she was, thoughts started running through her head. She was ill and in no condition to argue, and here he was, in her bedroom. It was not as if she had never had a man in her room before, but no, she pushed those thoughts out of her head. Percy would never think such a thing, he was still an English gentleman. She felt him rest his head against her arm, but she pulled it away from him. She struggle to pull the twisted covers up tighter around her and moaned as her stomach reminded her yet again that she had not eaten all day.

He sighed when she pulled her arm away from him. He knew what he was doing and he knew how wrong it was of him to even think such thoughts as she was even ill. Her arm pulling away was near equivalent to a slap in the face to his inexperienced mind. Watching her struggle with the blankets, he stood up and took a hold of the blankets and helped to pull them above and over her shoulders. She was very ill and making noises like a sick cow. Not that he had ever heard a sick cow.... just a phrase picked up as a child.

Marguerite released the blankets as she felt them tugged from her gentle grasp. She was about to protest until she felt Percy snuggly press them around her.

His eyes searched out the shape of her body under the blankets. What was she doing to him? He never had such impure thoughts about himself and a woman. He shook his head and looked up and away. Not that this was just any woman. This was Mlle. Marguerite St. Just. The woman he came to France to meet and marry. What on earth had he been thinking when he started out on this? That he would simply meet, propose and take her back home like a bolt of fine cloth? He never experienced romance, so he never expected to fall in love.

He stood over her a moment more and watched. Sitting back in the chair, Blakeney glanced around the apartment, observing what he could by candlelight. Marguerite continued to moan and toss and his every intentions were to make her more comfortable, but he did not know how beyond what was already tried. Listening to her continue on, he thought back to the days when he was a child and was sick.

His father put a wet cloth on his head. Young Percy had no coherent mother to nurse him back to health. His father would put the cloth on his head, tell him to get some rest and then go back up on the main deck. Young Percy wished his father would have stayed with him but never argued.

Perhaps that would work now. Making his way back to the kitchen with the candle, he fumbled around until he produced a cloth and poured cool water on top. There were no remedies or elixirs that the Baronet knew of. He knew Frank gave him some water mixed with a powder when he felt ill, but what it was he never bothered to find out. The wet cloth would have to do.

Moving back to her bedside, he laid the damp cool cloth on her head. The rain continued in a steady drizzle outside and he stood, taking off his coat. Placing it on the back of the chair, Blakeney sat back down and thought about this union growing between them. Leaning forward, clasping his hands together and resting his chin upon them, he watched her with a bit of worry for lack of knowing more to do.

Marguerite heard the footsteps fade away and then come back. Suddenly she felt a cool wetness caress her burning forehead. Her eyes snapped open and she looked to the side of her bed to see that Percy had once again sat down. Even in the dim light and through her slightly blurred vision, Marguerite could see the expression on his face. Marguerite cleared her throat and in a hoarse asked him the same thing she asked him a few nights before, "Percy, what are you thinking about?" as she once more extended her hand towards him.

He glanced up and looked concerned at her. She was offering him her hand again? Surely not for the kisses she just most recently rejected. Being into gentleman mode, he took her hand and held it, rubbing her fingers.

Marguerite smiled as she felt Percy hold onto her fingers and rub some warmth into then. The hand had gone numb and gaining some feeling back into them, there was nothing she'd rather feel then Percy's warm touch.

"How are you feeling?" his worried look faded a little, seeing her now seem to know he was there. "I am thinking how I can help you better. I know I am a most terrible nurse maid, and I suppose for that I am glad." He tried to offer her a jovial smile now, not sure if she was up for his foolish humor.

Marguerite started to giggle a bit, but that was halted by a cough. She turned her head and covered her mouth with her free hand before turning back to him. She gave him a dopey smile as she moved and wiggled her fingers. "I'm just glad you are here. You must have been a healthy boy if you're not sure how even to handle a cold." She slightly teased just to try and put him more at ease.

Something about what she said reminded him of his father and gave no expression or reply. He looked at her and just smiled, bringing her hand up to lips and giving a soft kiss. There were times to mourn and times to dwell. Being before her was not one of these times. He rubbed her cold fingers with his and pulled the chair closer to her bedside to be nearer. "I am glad I am here too. Can I get you anything else? Would you care for some more water to drink Maeve?"

"Honestly Percy I'm famished, but being I've been so busy and eating out most of the week, I have not been to market and am not sure if there is any food in the kitchen, unless Armand had done so, but I doubt that he would." Marguerite paused as her stomach turned again. She reached up and felt the cloth, which had now turned lukewarm. "I think the towel needs to be changed too."

He blinked at her. She was hungry. Come to think of it, so was he as his luke warm cheese soup was not consumed much. He stood and took the cloth and went silently into the kitchen. He left the candle by her side, getting a little more used to this direct path by now.

It had to be well past 9:00. Where in France was he supposed to get her food? He had no idea but came back and put the cool cloth upon her head once more. "I will go and find something for you to eat Maeve." He took his coat off the back chair and began to put it on.

Marguerite smiled once Percy had returned and placed the cool cloth once more on her forehead. Hopefully her fever would break soon and this would be over, although she did not mind having Percy there to take care of her. Although then Percy announced he was going. She reached out to stop him, "Oh no Percy, it's still simply dreadful out, I hate to think of you spending another moment in that storm because of me, please stay here."

He flipped down the lapels on his coat and adjusted the cravat. "No my Maeve. I came over here on my own power in the rain, did I not?" He smiled and patted her hand. "Besides, I have an umbrella. You need your strength to get better, less you lie here and listen to my insistent droning words that you could be eating something."

Marguerite sighed at her loss, she did not want to disagree tonight, but still did not want him to go. She let her arms drop again and she pulled them under the covers. "My purse is on the divan, you'll need the keys to get back in. And just where do you plan to go this time of night Percy anyway? There are no shops open at this time."

Looking at her, he gave a bit of a laugh. "You need to eat Maeve. In your condition tonight, I am going to take advantage of the fact that you will not stop me." He moved over to where she pointed and found the keys. Taking an unlit candle out of its holder, he put it in his pocket and smiled. "Do not worry Maeve. I am a master of ordering food in restaurants. I will somehow have to convince them to wrap something up for us."

Back at her bedside, he leaned over and gave her forehead a kiss. She still felt incredibly hot to him, but he was glad she was awake and speaking once more. Even her hoarse voice was music to his lonely ears. "Do not miss me too terribly." He winked and turned to go.

Marguerite closed her eyes as he once more placed his lips on her forehead. She found his hand before he pulled away, "Promise me you won't be long Percy. I feel so much better now that you're here."

Marguerite filled his soul with such wonderful words. Blakeney smiled and nodded. "You can count the minutes..." Opening the door, he pulled the candle from his pocket and stuck the flint until it lit. Picking up his umbrella, he found now he could move about freely in the hallway. Much better than the way up. Locking her safely in from the other side, he turned and headed down the stairwell.

He was somewhat familiar with her area, having been here on many occasions in the past week. He knew of some sort of cafe or bistro a few blocks and a few turns down the way. He ran, actually ran in the rain on the way there. He wanted to get there. The sooner he arrived, the sooner he could return to her side. "You know you are a fool Blakeney." He puffed out as he ran. With an inane laugh, he nodded to himself and pulled the umbrella closer to him.

As expected, the cafe was not used to customers coming in and not sitting to eat. Also as expected, producing enough francs made them go in immediately and start cooking the food. She was sick, and he told them something light, but warm. He put a stack of coins on the counter. "This stack will remain here when I leave if you are quick. For every minute I feel I have to wait unneeded, I take a coin back."

He smiled watching them bustle around. It was only 10 minutes later when they came out with their plates and the food wrapped in napkins and a large table cloth so the Brit could carry it. He paid them as promised and with an off-key whistle, headed back to her apartment.

Marguerite laid in her bed and listened to the clock tick by the minutes she spent alone. She was still tired but was still more aware now, as if she was getting a sort of second wind. She sat up and fixed her pillows so that they propped her up in the bed. She took care to pull the sleeves of her nightgown down to cover her arms. Pulling a ribbon of her night table, she pulled the unruly hair of her face and she took the cool cloth and wiped her face and hands with it before resting it again on her forehead as she waited for Percy to return.

With the small heavy bundle of food, Blakeney walked quickly through the rainy Parisian streets. It was a little awkward to hold both the umbrella and the package close to his body and a few times the umbrella tilted allowing the rain to hit his face. He did not mind. He had seen worse days.

He entered the small hallway of her building and relit the candle, heading upstairs. The umbrella tucked under his arm, making his coat start to soak. Upon entering her flat, he called out softly, "I'm back Maeve. I hope you are hungry."

Marguerite smiled as she heard Percy come through the door. She tried to greet him, but her sore throat prevented it. Once more she struggled to push herself up to see him when he entered.

He came in with his coat and pants damp, but things were not that bad. He put the food down on a small table and began to talk and unwrap at the same time. "Well now. Let us see what they put in here for one who is ill on a stormy night, shall we?"

He found some bread and took it out and rested it on the napkin it was wrapped in. The other items finally pulled out were some light noodles in a butter sauce and a crock of vegetable soup. "It seems I found a place that prepared well. Let's hope their food tastes as well as their service."

Marguerite watched as Percy unpacked the food he had brought in. It smell wonderful, which only caused her poor stomach to turn once more begging for food. Marguerite reached over and gently tugged on his sleeve, "There are dishes and silverware in the kitchen, in the lower draws, and trays in the cabinet next to them," she said as she took the damp cloth which had once more turned luke warm off her forehead.

The crock was dripping a little and he looked up at Marguerite when she spoke. Seeing her take the damp cloth, he moved near her and relieved her off it. "Allow me Madame." He teased with a wink.

In the kitchen he fixed the cloth and brought it back to her. He went back and poured soup and brought the bowls out. He moved to the food and took out the buttery noodles and bread and put it on one big plate. Not exactly meat and cheese from his mouth to hers, but it would work.

He sat down in the chair, wished he had wine, but lifted his soup bowl to her with a smile. "Cheers."

Marguerite gave a weak a tired smile as Percy rejoined her after setting out the food. She looked down at the steaming bowl on her tray and carefully took a spoonful. It was nice and warm and helping her to ward off the chill she had been feeling. She was being careful as she ate, she did not know if she would be able to keep everything down. After a few more bites she put her spoon down and watched Percy as he ate his soup.

He took off his wet coat and put it on the back of her chair again. He ate the soup with his spoon in his rather dainty manner, finding it a little awkward to try and look proper while still holding the bowl. He did manage a smile at his efforts when Marguerite watched him. If he was Fuelier, he would simply just slurp the darn stuff down and be done with it. Alas, Sir Percy took his careful time.

"Do you like it Maeve?" Blakeney smiled over at her and asked. Breaking off some bread, he offered her a small piece. "You will need your strength back soon. If this flu bug of yours is attacking the entire theatre, they will have to shut it down with no performers present." He smiled and teased. It was good to see her awake and feeling better.

Marguerite nodded as she took the piece of bread Percy offered her. "It's wonderful Percy, thank you." She started to continue when a cough rose to her throat. She turned her head and hid her face behind her hand, but the coughing did not stop after one or two. Dropping the bread onto her tray and rubbing her chest with her hand Marguerite continued to suffered through an awful hacking cough which scratched at her throat, caused pain in her chest and brought tears to her eyes.

Quickly he took the bowl and tray from her and set it on the floor. He stood at her side, holding a glass of water, watching her cough and thrash about. The expression on his face paled and moved his hands a little, trying to near her, yet at the very same time, his own memory held him back. He put a hand to her forehead, but her coughing head jerked and he retreated it. At a loss for what to do, he held his breath and hoped the moment would pass.

Marguerite suffered through the coughing fit. She turned her head and could not see Percy, but she felt the tray taken off her lap and his hand brush her forehead. At last it had stopped, but the violent fit left her short of breath. Still clutching her chest, just let her other hand drop as she gasped and heaved in attempt to regain her breath.

Putting the water down, he moved in and reached for her fallen hand. He dropped to his knees, fear creeping into his eyes and he held her hand to his cheek. "My God... Maeve, tell me how to help you!" Panic was in his voice and his face took on the look of a scared child. She sounded horrible and he was helpless to ease her current state.

He held her one hand in his two, up against his face and stared down over at her. His heart raced and sweat formed in very light beads across his brow. This was torture. He closed his eyes, and leaned his head forward resting it against her mattress. Still all the while, holding her hand.

As Marguerite continued to pant, a sudden weariness once again over took her. She was eventually almost able to regain her breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. Even though she was sitting down, she felt dizzy, as if the room were spinning around her. She continued her heavy breathing for a few more moments as she tried to squeeze Percy's hand so that he knew she would be alright. Marguerite put her free hand to her forehead once more and she could tell it was still warm and she doubted that her fever had broken.

He patted her hand, rubbing it against his cheek once more. Inside, the helpless feeling was killing him. He never took care of his mother, and although he could tell Marguerite's sickness was very different from the late Lady Blakeney's, he felt helpless all the same. What more could he do? He had kissed her forehead, changed her head towel numerous times. He held her hand and remained at her bedside. Offered her water, patter her back when she coughed.

Marguerite remained quiet while Percy cared for her. To her it was nothing more then an exceptionally painful flu, but he seemed to be in agony. She weakly smiled at him each time he brought a cool towel or patted her back to help her get over fits.

He stood and resoaked the cloth for her forehead and came back, placing it on her again. She was still very warm and now he tucker her in all around. Fearful of the very sight, he sat and leaned back in the small chair at her bedside. He brought his fist to his mouth and bit down hard.

He left once more and she turned to see her one lonely candle on her night table nearly burned down. She heard his footsteps once more approach and he gently placed a new cloth on her warm head. After he sat down she began to gently try to slide further down her bed so that she might lay back down. Percy quickly got out of the chair and helped her before tucking her blankets around her again. Once settled she reached for his hand and pulled down on his arm until he gently sat on the corner of her bed. She moved her head from her pillow to rest on his leg as she gently rubbed his knee with her other as she softly spoke through her hoarse voice, "I didn't want you to see me tonight Percy, I didn't want you to see me like this, but I'm so glad you did, and I'm so glad to have you here with me." Marguerite drew in a few deep breaths as she held his hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes and just before falling asleep, she whispered her sweet confession, "I love you, my Percy."

Her touch to him was like a buffet of fine foods to a starving man. He craved it. He needed it. It fulfilled his soul. Gladly he sat on her bed, not caring at the moment what it was or meant. Who was around to see? He was back in the woods lying with her alone on a blanket. She wanted this as much as he did, he imagined.

As she used him leg again like a pillow, his heart melted. He reached down and stroked at her gathered hair. Her vain attempt to cover the illness that had struck her down. So beautiful yet so helpless in his lap, needing him at the moment. Really needing him. Hearing her words, seeing her eyelids droop so, he gulped and opened his mouth to speak. No sound came out.

When her lids shut completely, he leaned down and kissed her forehead again. Whispering in her ear his voice softly spoke, "I am glad I am here too." Her sweet words echoed in his head and he could not bring himself to say them. He tried. His mouth gapped open and he took a breath in and out to try and return the words, but they were not of his nature and he could not force them out. After a few stuttering moments, he finished it. "I I I I... me too."

He looked down at her and she seemed asleep and he sighed. Watching her lie on him, he continued to run his hand and pet her long contained locks. He remained that way for a while, not wishing to disturb her calm sleep that they both were finally granted. He leaned back on his arms after a while, and soon found his own eye lids drop.

When his body began to slip into sleep, he jerked awake and looked down at her. She still slept soundly on his leg, her arm draped across his lap. He gave in to the late hour and leaned back on her bed. His head resting near her feet, he tried not to move and soon found himself no longer able to fight off consciousness.

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