He watched as one of her ladies brought forth the highly decorated
gown to her room, and then the candle light vanished. Taking out his
pocket watch, the Baronet noted the time was 6:10. The sun would set
soon enough, but not yet and due to this Percival Blakeney made his
way down the main foyer stairs and moved into the back lawn. His
mind was trying to decide if he wished to relax by the creek, stroll
to the stables or waltz around to the front of the Manor.
Bleu ou vert? Armand decided on green. Dark green satin breeches, trimmed with tiny, tiny gold braid. A matching green, light velvet coat, with matching gold braid on the cuffs. The vest was a shade so dark it almost looked black. He adjusted it so the vest lapels overlapped those of the jacket. There was a considerable amount of lace on the cuffs of his shirt. He noted that it was a much finer linen than usual, thinner, and made of a much richer, more expensive cotton. St Just sighed. English. Lace everywhere. Or was that just Percy?
He noted with some disgust that his shoes had bows instead of buckles
tonight. He made a face, but pulled them on. He winced only very slightly as
he stood up. His leg was much better now, but still tender. Completing his outfit with a dark tie around his hair, he tied his cravat neatly and glanced at his reflection. He looked pretty good.
St Just wandered aimlessly downstairs. The foyer clock read 6:10. How much
longer? He noticed his brother in law standing outside on the back lawn. He
exited the house and joined him. "Tiens," He said, softly, coming up beside Percy. "Are you all right? You look a little... lost."
"Hmmm?" Taken out of the safety of his mind, the dumfounded blank
stare blinked to cease and his pupils focused on the figure standing
next to him. Armand.
The French words and English words all meshed together in the
Baronet's mind. Young St. Just had called to get his attention and
muttered something else that his wandering brain failed to catch.
The last phrase, however, made it crystal clear to his ears.
"Lost? In my own home? What a dreadful thought. Not even I could
manage such a feat." The languid smile crossed his lips as Sir Percy
fell smoothly into slot and row. It was going to be a long night.
"Percy..." Armand said, agitated. "D'accord, so you are not lost. But you are
troubled." He glanced over and up at his brother. "It's rather apparent."
A thoughtful smile at being caught formed and he nodded at
Armand. "I suppose so," was all he offered by means of a whisper and
then turned his head slowly about to survey his surroundings.
He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his breeches. The young
Frenchman shook his head. He knew that was all he would get from Percy on
that subject. "Percy, when are we leaving again?" He asked abruptly.
"I," he stressed with a pause, "am leaving shortly after the Prince's
Engagement Ball." With a sideways glance, the Baronet glanced down
to Armand's leg and then back up to the young, flushed face. In his
mind, there was no further discussion of the topic.
"*You*?" He said. More of a statement than a question. "What? Has Marguerite
really scared you that badly?"
"Now that tis a funny sort of comment to speak. Yes. Me. There is
no 'we' in traveling young Sprout. Remember that for a while. You
are no good to me like a lame horse. Marguerite has slighty a hair's
breath to do with it." Blakeney felt his insides give a churn
thinking that Armand would seriously consider his actions based on
those influences of his wife. Bah!
He looked down. "My leg is almost better," He said. "And trust me, I know
Marguerite. She gave me the same warning, Percy. Are you actually going to
listen?"
What a spot to be in. As a man who had been always run by his ego,
answering this delicate question was not an easy one. There was a
few moments of uncomfortable silence. His throat jolted and Percy
felt his palms sweat. He was a leader of a small band of rebel men.
His family's wealth was the richest in the land.
Finally the Baronet answered, his throat drying, "Let's go check on
Julian and Sultan hmmm? You might wish to sneak Sultan some of the
fine oats from the kitchen while I'm gone."
"I'll do that, if you answer my question and don't try to change the
subject." Oh he'd do it anyway. Percy was set on his decision, but Armand
didn't want to be left out of further adventures because his sister was over
protective. So he got shot in the leg. Big deal.
"I just did." Was it a French culture attribute in general or just
the St. Justs who refused to let a person off the hook easily?
Blakeney continued forward, taking advantage of his long legs and
Sprout's hurt condition to put a bit of a distance between the two.
If Armand did not understand he more or less just agreed with the
boy, he wasn't about to point out his own weakness. He gave just
enough information. No more. No less.
He stared at Percy for a moment, then laughed. "You *are* afraid of her, aren't you?" He exclaimed. "Good lord, Percy, she's your wife! What could she possibly do to you? You've got to be... at least... a foot taller than she!" Sure, maybe his leg hurt, but not enough to stop him from catching up with
the baronet. He stopped him by standing in front of him.
"Come on, Percy, if I can stare her down, surely you can. I mean, look at
me: I managed to live with her for 17 years. Surely you can manage at least
that long?"
"I just did." Was it a French culture attribute in general or just
the St. Justs who refused to let a person off the hook easily?
Blakeney continued forward, taking advantage of his long legs and
Sprout's hurt condition to put a bit of a distance between the two.
If Armand did not understand he more or less just agreed with the
boy, he wasn't about to point out his own weakness. He gave just
enough information. No more. No less.
He stared at Percy for a moment, then laughed. "You *are* afraid of
her, aren't you?" He exclaimed. "Good lord, Percy, she's your wife!
What could she possibly do to you? You've got to be... at least... a
foot taller than she!" Sure, maybe his leg hurt, but not enough to
stop him from catching up with the baronet. He stopped him by
standing in front of him. "Come on, Percy, if I can stare her down,
surely you can. I mean, look at me: I managed to live with her for 17
years. Surely you can manage at least that long?"
Giving a blunt, irritated gruff, Blakeney gave a side way glance at
Armand. "Speaking of height, how fast do you think you would hobble
if you were a foot *shorter* ?" As for the rest of the Sprout's
speach, Percy was not addressing it. Grabbing the brush off the
wall, he clicked his tongue and showed Armand his back. When Sultan
came, he spoke softly to the horse and brushed its neck. At least
Sultan left him alone.
The boy made a face. "Faster than you'd think," He muttered. Armand moved so that he was facing Percy. "Why won't you talk to me? You can trust me."
"I am speaking with you. It is the subject matter that I do not care
for. My God Armand!" He glanced around the stables to ensure no one
hear him save his horse and the boy. "If you have to tell me I can
trust you one more time, I'm going to stop trusting you. You know
where we stand, so stop with it."
He patted Sultan's nose and thrust the brush in Armand's hand. "Show
me now how you are gentle with it, so I may rest assure when I am
gone."
He didn't even have to glance at the brush to know it was the wrong one but
curry combs feel significantly different, so it wasn't that great of a feat.
Dropping it into the crate, he selected a hard bristle brush. With gentle,
firm strokes, he smoothed the ruffled coat of Sir Percy's finest steed. With the soft brush, he brushed Sultan's nose, murmuring softly in French to
the animal.
Viva la victory! Finally one of the two gave in. As each day
passed, he was becoming better in dealing with their persistant
ways. The English never hung onto a subject so. Better to save the
reputation than get in another man's face. As well versed as he was
in other cultures, Sir Percy's roots held too tight a grip.
Watching Armand for a while, he calmed and thought silently. The boy
was incredibly gentle with Sultan, and the fine animal seemed to
enjoy the attention Sir Percy could never deliver. What was it with
the Frence and their passionate ways? Yes. That was it. They held
such a passion about everthing. Anger. Happiness. Wanting answers
to their demmed questions. This last thought brought about a smile
to the Baronet's face and he moved to the side wall where a small
copper can hung.
"See here now," the minute he moved over, Sultan's brown ears perked
forward and his eyes widened. "If you really want his attention, do
this." Blakeney raised one eyebrow at the horse, as his hand stayed
half in the can. With his other free hand, Percy pointed an index
finger downward and then moved it about in a circle. Almost on cue,
Sultan pulled back from Armand's petting and snorted, pawing the
ground. With a soft whinney cry, the steed turned about, keeping his
eye on Sir Percy and did not stop slowly spinning until his master's
finger did.
"Ha ha! Well done old boy." Taking his hand out of the bag,
Blakeney brought over a handful of damp lettuce that had been dipped
in sugar. He handed the treat to Armand. "It's a triffle little
trick I say. One of a few he's developed over the years."
Returning to his thoughts, he muttered, "I am going alone to France
after the Prince's ball Armand. I have no tricks that will keep your
sister from asking questions, and slowly, I am running out of answers
to tell her. Be a good lad and keep her occupied while I'm gone,
Mmm? It will do no one any good for me to admit I fear her finding
my true self out one of these days, so I shalt own up to it. Do we
have an understanding..." he paused for a moment, "Brother?"
Armand fed the lettuce to the horse, which gave a contented sigh as it
chewed. The boy himself made a disgusted noise when Percy said the word
"alone". It meant so much-- meant that Armand was going to be left alone with his prying sister.
The boy thought vaguely that it seemed he had been more and more
unwilling to be around Marguerite since he met Percy. But that was because he now had something to hide from her. Still.... Ever since he was fourteen, St Just had become ... disagreeable...around his sister.
Now he turned to meet Percy's serious, blue eyes: the English lion
and the French puppy. "I swore my loyalty to you, Sir Percy," He said softly. "I guess I can think of something."
"That's a good lad now." He nodded and glanced towards the house and
near whispered as his mind moved elsewhere, "That's a good lad."
He wasn't as observant as you'd think, but nor was he as unobservant as you'd think. What as so facinating about the house that he couldn't see? In fact.... could Percy even see anything?
Armand left the horse and glanced over at his brother in law. A long
silence followed. "She loves you, Percy," Armand said, trying to ease Percy from his silence.
He did not blink, nor move in a startled fashion, when Armand spoke.
Instead, he kept his gaze towards the house. How sorrowful did he
look at the moment, yearning for a past that no longer existed?
Keeping his gaze towards her room, his eyes searching vainly for a
passing shadow, Percy spoke. "We both loved each other madly once."
He remained staring at the house, offering no more.
"Only once?" Rhetorical question. "I suppose it's possible," He continued,
neutrally. "However... If you don't love her anymore, then why, Percy, are
you staring at the window of the room she stands in? Of course...." He added
casually. "You don't love her so I'm sure it's some sort of a coincidence."
Now his head turned and he gave the raised eye browed look at the
teen. "Mmmmm." The reaction was not given in the form of a
question. Not even in the form of an agreement. Had it not been
that single consonant, it would have come out a disagreeable grunt.
Again, Armand was catching him, and this time, he turned to go get
his horse some more lettuce from the can.
Oh great. He just got rejected for a horse. No matter. Armand returned the look, and said, "What a coincidence " The boy stifled a grin that tugged at his mouth. Maybe this time he would get an actual answer...?
The horse whined seeing the offering. "Here old boy." Blakeney was
careful not to drip the water and sugar lettuce on his fine evening
attire. "You going to the ball this evening young whippersnapper?
Going to do a little waltzing with a limp?"
He sighed and gave up. "Yes, I suppose I am, if only to keep my sister company on the ride home." Armand shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Do you have to leave from the ball? She's going to cry or complain-- or both-- all the way home. You know what she's like!" He shoved his hands into his pockets grudgingly.
The hearty laugh escaped his lips now. "Yes, yes I indeed do!" He
clapped Armand on the back and laughed a bit more. "No no. That is
not exactly what I had in mind. I will leave during the night or
early morn, as always. You will not ride alone to cover for me so
soon, my dear little Sprout."
"That's good to know...." He said, only partially relieved. He shook his
head. "She's going to harass me tomorrow though.... She'd harass me anyway,
especially if I went, too.... But..." Oh damn. He glanced skyward at his
brother. "I guess there just isn't any escape, is there, Percy?"
"There never will be with her Armand. I have not decided it if is a
French trend, part of the St. Just bloodline, or just her." He
winked at Sprout, and took a clean cloth that hung from the wall,
wiping his hands clean.