The carriage being unpaid, it did not leave as Chauvelin stood
waiting for who he assumed to be an approaching attendant of some kind -- though everything here already looked strangely familiar. He banished any vaguely uncomfortable sensations from the far-too-public realm of physical expression, and answered the man in his rather heavily-accented English with the same haughty, formal air he was accustomed to employing: "I am here to see Lady Blakeney, in fact -- if you would inform her that one Citoyen Chauvelin wishes to speak with her."
As he heard the name Frank's blood froze. Chauvelin, the man bent on destroying Percy, was at the manor! And requesting to see Lady Blakeney. Frank knew better than to let Chauvelin see the flash of recognition cross his face, and instead nodded politely. "Of course, sir. If you would care to come in and wait in the parlor?"
He nodded. "Yes, thank you." Chauvelin feared for a moment that he
may have come too early, but rejected the idea quickly -- after all,
he was quite capable of waiting, should the object of his visit be
occupied. He made a half-hearted attempt at concealing his scorn for
her obvious extravagance, at least around the help; but indeed it
mattered little, as the residual hints of a sneer had been all but
burned into his face in recent years.
Leading Chauvelin into the parlor Frank called to Thomas. "Thomas,
would you please tell Lady Blakeney that Monsieur Chauvelin would like
to see her in the parlor?" Turning his attention back to Chauvelin
Frank smiled coolly. "Can I get you anything, sir?"
"I'll only wait, thank you." The agent wondered, while paying
little attention to his current 'host', whether Marguerite -- Lady
Blakeney, he should probably say, though it grated rather seriously
across his sense of pride -- had spoken of him to her husband. A
rather arrogant thought, he admitted, especially considering that she
had before gone quite out of her way to see that the Englishman had as
little contact with him as possible.
Glancing around the parlor, he turned his words back towards the
man before him. "Quite beautiful, really. I assume it's been in
Blakeney's family for quite some time?" The man's name was a blank,
as was his title.
Marguerite was walking about the manor early in the morning. She heard
happily little screeches out in the yard and looked outside to see the two
girls playing with Percy. She smiled as she looked over the yard and the
two children and her husband. She paid no attention to the approaching
footsteps until Frank approached her and a Monsieur Chauvelin was at the
manor and requesting to see her.
immediately her heart froze and she nearly fell over. She didn't believe
he was here, in England, in Richmond, in her house. No no no, she knew
pushing him away could be dangerous, but would not meet him alone. She
stepped outside and told Frank to tell the man he may meet her in the
gardens if he wished.
Frank examined the man as non-chalantly as possible, given the
circumstances, and replied in a detached tone. "Yes sir, the
ancestral home so to speak. And it is exquisitely beautiful. Just
the place for a couple like Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney." As he
finished his statement he eyed Chauvelin carefully, waiting for a
reaction.
The correct manner of address for an English noble had also
escaped him, and he made a note of it; however Chauvelin had no real
desire to see him at all, and so hoped that it would remain a matter
of trivia.
"Quite," he replied, a sarcastic tilt to his expression the only
outward sign of what he might have felt aside from a hint of
impatience. Ironic: he had never seen Marguerite as the type to live
as such, but her hirelings no doubt knew her better, now.
“I'm sure Lady Blakeney will be down soon." Frank was growing
uncomfortable, but he was not about to leave this man alone for even
a few minutes. As Frank tried to examine the slight, sable clad
figure as surrepitiously as possible, Thomas entered.
"Lady Blakeney is in the garden. If Monsieur Chauvelin would
like to speak with her she will receive him there.
Upon hearing the announcement, Chauvelin shrugged
mentally. It was, in fact, quite a pleasant day; the
outdoors would certainly not deter him from his
morning entertainment. "Thank you, indeed I should,"
he replied, waiting for one of the two to direct him
to the proper location.
Frank first turned to Thomas, wanting to keep the younger man as
far removed from this situation as possible, for Percy's sake. "Thank
you, Thomas. I can take it from here. Now, Monsieur Chauvelin, if
you will follow me I will show you to the garden." Frank turned and
lead the way into the garden, glancing back occasionally to check on
the whereabouts of the other man. As they entered the garden, Frank
caught Marguerite's eye before speaking. "Monsieur Chauvelin,
milady." Ordinarily Frank now would have turned and left the two, but
in this case he was not about to leave any sooner than he absolutely
had to.
Marguerite had become lost in her own world for a time while wondering
around the bright gardens. Franks sudden interruption startled her and she
turn to face him and the visitor. For a moment she simply stared at
Chauvelin, almost as if she was hoping he wasn't really there. After a
that moment she nodded to Frank, "Thank you, Frank, that will be all for
now."
Mildly annoyed by the man's rather suspicious behavior, Chauvelin
concluded that Marguerite had become decidedly more loose-lipped than
he remembered. He wondered precisely what she *had* told her
household; he was being treated as if he were likely to steal
something ... He entered the garden not a few feet behind the escort,
and bypassed his habit of taking in the foreign surroundings in favor
of focusing directly on Lady Blakeney.
Frank nodded politely, and smiled at Marguerite as nonchalantly as
possible. "Of course, Lady Blakeney. If you need *anything* else
just call for me. I will be inside."
A world of self-discipline had always been at the agent's hands,
an adequate measure in most cases to cancel out his supreme discomfort
with stress, chaos of any kind. All of it was required to keep a
smile from spreading over his lean face as Marguerite's eyes spoke
pages to him -- she seemed afraid, and a small part of him supposed he
ought to be somewhat wounded, but perhaps she had taken that
particular portion of him when she had left. He waited for the
servant to remove himself before their introductions.
Marguerite waited and watched as Frank began his retreat back towards the
manor. She looked over and noticed Percy and the girls still near
by. She took in a deep breath before turning back to Chauvelin. She bit
her lip and watched him. She had nothing to say to him, and so waited
until he would break the silence.
His word was given and Percy Blakeney held true to it.
For the past two days since his 'priests and pirates' game, he made
it a point in the morning, parts of the afternoon and evening to play
with the little Louise. Sarah was most often about too and to
Blakeney, the two of them were quite an inseparable pair. In the
back of his mind, he knew that any day Louise's parents would come
and take her away. This is how he felt too: An odd sort of
abandonment. With the knowledge of her departure soon at hand, Percy
savored every moment he could spare to playing with the children.
Louise never had friends, she said, and that just touched the Baronet
as he wished her to not be lonely.
On this third morning of games, the girls had taken to hollering and
running around Sir Percy as he attempted to capture them. At first,
he moved slow, thinking he was being fair. Never having been around
little girls before, it quickly became clear just how fast the little
snips could go. After a full hour of chasing games, the tall blue-
eyed Englishman lied down in the grass to catch his breath. 'I'm
getting old.' he thought with a chuckle.
Seeing the Baronet collapse on the ground, the girls raced over to
him in their shrieking manner. Percy pretended not to move, playing
dead where he lay. They prodded him and giggled. Soon, they took to
tugging at his clothes and when he still refused to acknowledge them,
one of them took out his hair tie and he felt soft tugs to his blonde
locks.
He took to stealing a peek up and noticed that there was one girl on
either side of him. Stifling a laugh, he could not figure out what
they were doing until it was too late. Soon it dawned on him and Sir
Percy experienced his first time having his hair braided. Laughing,
he sat up to undo their work with his fingers, only to see the pouty
faces. With a sigh, he gave in. "Oh have at it." Blakeney sat
there like a good student or model as the little hands played with
the blonde mess. Had he realized they were fussing over him, he
might have thought to object but the attention from the girls far
outweighed whatever troublesome fussing he might endure.
"On my...." he laughed, seeing the girls pick small purple and pink
flowers which they stuck in the braids. He had no idea how many
braids they had done, but it felt like quite more than four and they
kept coming back and forth to adorn his hair with the tiny buds.
"So how beautiful am I girls?" He smiled and sat there, looking at
them. One of the girls ran inside to fetch a mirror and Percy
remained still while the other took to putting in just a few more lat
minute flowery touches. When he took the mirror to himself, Blakeney
let out a loud laugh. His appearance was ridiculously fun! Turning
his chin slightly to the side, to try to see how many braids he
owned, his blood froze and the smile on his face vanished.
The mirror told no lies, and reflected the truth that was hidden
prior from his view. Behind him, in the garden, was his wife....
and with her was a strange man dressed far too dark for any bright
fall day in England.
The agent allowed a few moments more to pass before he made a bow,
a mere shadow of the courtesies he might have shown her not so long
ago. He maintained a distance too respectful to take her hand, and so
he simply rose to greet her (in their native language, of course, if
she remembered it at all), after casting a glance in the direction of
the young noises.
"Good morning, Lady Blakeney -- it has been rather a while, hasn't
it?"
Marguerite carefully eyed him as he stood before her and then finally
bowed. HE spoke to her, in French, and involuntarily she nearly cringed
at the sound of his voice, a voice she once longed to listen to. "Indeed
it has, Citoyen Chauvelin, although some may say not long enough."
Chauvelin made a wounded little sigh, and stepped closer so that
he might converse with her in a less formal tone. "Yes, some might.
I am, however, in England for the time being -- on business, you
understand -- and thought I would stop by. I haven't seen you since
... your marriage, was it? And I don't believe I ever met your
husband." He was, in truth, somewhat disappointed that she had chosen
to meet him outside, so near a number of other people, whom he could
not closely observe at the moment. Glancing back at the sheer
enormity of the house, he quietly added, "You have a *lovely* home."
Marguerite eyed him carefully as he stepped closer to her. She ignored
the comment about having not met Percy and instead referred to his last
comment, "Yes, Blakeney Manor is a lovely place to live. If you're in
England on business, what are you doing here. We're not exactly around
the block from London, where I assume your business is."
Her discomfort practically fed him. "My business, in fact,
encompasses *all* of your ... charming country. I couldn't very well
leave out this portion on a whim." He extended one hand in the
direction of the building itself. "I only thought to come and look in
on your situation. You're quite happy, then?" He would not admit to
himself that he was hoping for a negative response.
Marguerite gave a harsh laugh. "I know what you're after Armand, and you
won't get it. I am enjoying my new life as Lady Marguerite Blakeney."
She took a small step back to put a slightly more comfortable space in
between herself and him. "To check on me, is that all you've come here
for."
Raising one eyebrow, Chauvelin let his smirk slip out across his
lips as smoothly as he had hidden it minutes before. "You know what
I'm after, then? And what is that? Come to steal you away from this
frigid island? What an imagination you have," he replied, as he
closed the gap between them that she had widened. "If you did know
what I was after, I doubt very much that you would be so amused. Not
that you take much interest in politics, anymore."
Marguerite, not wanting him to feel as though he was intimidating her,
held her ground and almost to an extend sized him up. "I still take
plenty interest in politics and current events. I might not live in
Paris anymore, that doesn't mean I heart and thoughts aren't there."
"Are they." Chauvelin looked slightly up at her, a rather
doubtful expression creeping through his laughing eyes. "Better than
some of your countrymen, in any case, or so I hear; at least your nose
is out of it all. Forgive me if I was under the impression that you
had abandoned everyone -- I suppose that from an extravagant house one
can do almost *anything* comfortably, even throw a bone to some remote
cause."
"The reason I live in as you call it, an extravagant house, is because I
fell in love with a man who lived in such a house." Marguerite
snapped. "And I don't see the struggles of France as a remote cause. I
still feel for all those suffering, especially the innocent victims."
"A good deal of nothing is what your feelings are worth, Lady
Blakeney, considering how much you intervene. And, as I'm sure you
know, there are no innocents. On either side. Anywhere." Chauvelin
would never for the world let her know that he himself had left one
back at his rooms. "And that is understandable, certainly; I'm sure
your husband has some very pressing occupation that requires he stay
within the country. Does he share your 'feeling' for France, I
wonder?"
"No innocents!" Marguerite snapped, "What about all those young children,
some of them not even old enough to read I'm sure, what in the world could
they have done to threaten the revolution? And leave my husband out of
this discussion. He occupation and deals are no business of yours."
"No, I suppose they are not," Chauvelin admitted, looking once again
in the direction of the more care-free occupants of the garden. "And
my reasoning is none of *your* business, nor that of any uninterested
party. It's amazing, really, the number of pious bystanders who would
rather sit in their homes than remedy the situation they find so very
distasteful." He knew, for his part, that there were innocents, of
course. Years before he had thought that everyone fit that particular
description, but disillusionment was always an inevitable.
"You know that's not true of me. You know I would do anything in my power
to help my country. I think I proved that to you my last week in Paris,
the day I gave you what you wanted, the day I gave you my trust, and the
day you lied and betrayed me."
And now she accused *him* of betraying her trust! He fought to
keep from laughing, a bitter twist of a smile marking his face in its
stead. "And what was trust, then, to you? To me? I don't recall any
sort of agreement between the two of us -- it was not your right to
make conditions, then. Not your business, as you so kindly confirmed
by leaving not seven days afterward."
"You and I had an agreement. I would give the Marquis in part on the
condition that you left his wife and children alone. I didn't even make
it to the sea shore on my honeymoon before I found out you killed the
entire family." Marguerite snapped at him.
"And as far as I am concerned, your agreements meant nothing. I
myself cannot accept the responsibility for their deaths in any case,
as I simply turned the information over to the proper channels. I am
not above the law," Chauvelin retorted, dryly, "Even for you."
"I told you where and when to find the Marquis on his own. there was no
need at all to bring his family into this and you know you could have
avoided it. But no, of course not, it would leave a small group of
aristos still alive is that it. Tell me Armand, being that I would now be
considered an aristo, would you arrest and execute me for no reason if I
would set foot again in my beloved home land." Marguerite said with a bit
of a bite in her voice.
"I daresay I should have a good number of reasons." Chauvelin
glanced down at his hand, counting off the charges on his fingers as
he spoke. "Desertion, for one; subsequent affiliation with the enemy;
a temporary withholding of information from the government ... perhaps
more, if I were made to think of them. And your 'title', Marguerite,
I seriously doubt would be recognized by any sort of authority.
Besides," he smirked, "We have very little business arresting British
citizens who stay very clearly out of our business."
"I would almost think that was a threat Armand. So now marriage is
affiliation with the enemy and moving into my husband's home is now
desertion." Marguerite took a few steps away and sat down a nearby bench,
slightly tired and weary from the draining activities of the morning.
"When your husband is an English noble and your husband's home is
located in England, yes." Chauvelin did not follow her, this time,
perhaps because her retreat was accompanied by what he personally
chose to interpret as a sign of weakness. For the first time he noted
a marked physical change in her -- he himself had undergone a few, but
to his own eyes they had been gradual, and seemed natural. The new
appearance, however, did not suit her as it suited him ... of course,
he should not have associated her with anything like what he had
previously thought, but somehow her condition disconcerted him. He
crossed his arms at his chest, and remained standing.
Without turning around she gave a frustrated and sarcastic laugh, "So, now
the committee sees love as a crime."
Playing along, perhaps to spite her, Chauvelin raised one hand to
the air in an elaborative gesture. "Oh, love is quite legal, as you
well know. Leaving a country in a time of need, for whatever reason,
is called desertion."
"This conversation bores me. It's quite obvious that despite my well
known opinions of the monarchy and aristocracy, and my past service to
France that you think of me as some sort of traitor. there's no point in
wasting my energy with this droll speech." Marguerite said.
The agent shrugged lightly, rolling his lean shoulders backwards.
"I apologize if I am straining you. I was unaware that you were not
well."
Marguerite turned her head to stare at him, "I didn't say I was unwell, I
said you bore me."
"Both are plainly seen, of course. A pity, really; no one at home
enjoys a good discussion anymore." He stepped so that he was not
directly behind her, but rather somewhat off to her side. "A minor
loss, I suppose."
"Everyone is too cautious at home, opening your mouth is an easy way to
talk your own head off these days. Even you must admit that there is
danger in almost everything that one may say." Marguerite said as she
watched his shadow moving about.
"A danger I willingly brave, of course, and my colleagues as well.
There is always a period of instability between a revolution and a
government, after all ... someone has to stay to make sure that it
reaches the latter phase." He tried now and then to catch a glimpse
of her eyes.
"If someone has to stay then what are you doing here in
England." Marguerite remarked, keeping her eyes from meeting his.
"Checking up on those who would hinder our progress. I am an
ambassador; travel is rather essential to the job, yes?"
"I hadn't remembered you doing much traveling before." Marguerite
remarked.
"There was never very much need for it, before. Domestic affairs
are a bit less trying, now." Chauvelin decided against placing
himself in front of her regardless of her reluctance, and remained
where he was. "After all, foreign relations are essential to any
successful organization, government or not."
Marguerite nodded and sighed as she scanned the grounds looking for her
husband, "I suppose so." she plainly remarked. She calmly sighed before
looking up, though not at him, "so how is Paris?"
Strangely glad to lapse into a more pleasant conversation (he had
thought that he enjoyed the former topic greatly, really, but somehow
he was relieved), Armand nearly smiled. "Beautiful, as it is this
time of year."
"Paris always was beautiful in the summertime." marguerite said with a
sigh. "But other then that, the summer heat tends to affect the crowds,
and not only in the best ways."
"Yes, it does ... one tries not to be on the streets. We haven't
quite so many crowds, now, I think, as we used to, or at least not
such demonstrative ones. Occasionally a reading in the gardens, but
not much more."
"I miss that," Marguerite mused, "I used to like to go into some of the
parks and squares and listen to people speak."
How long the two of them had been standing there speaking, he could
only guess. Percival Blakeney did not take well to the sight he
viewed in the mirror. Forcing his eyes from the small reflected
scene, he looked at Louise and Sarah. "Go find Helene now. Inside
the house." His tone had changed dramatically from silly to serious,
and seeing the confused faces, Blakeney offered a small smile. "All
is well. I have never looked prettier in my life. Off with you
now. To the house."
When the little girls left his side, Blakeney took the mirror and
held the handle tightly in his stressed hand. Lying down close to
the ground, he rolled and was careful to position the mirror so he
could watch his wife. His back was to them as he ensured the sun's
ray did not catch the silver glass. A master at these sort of
maneuvers, he laid his head to rest on his arm and banked on his fine
tan suit blending a bit into the dying fall grass.
Now it was waiting time, and as if dead, Percy did not move. Seeing
Marguerite head further away, only to have the darkly dressed man
follow and stand just behind her, enraged Percy. He was blocking the
view of Marguerite and certainly no expressions on their faces were
seen. Who did Marguerite know in England? No one! Unless....
"There are almost as many speakers now, I'm quite happy to say, although government is no longer their topic of choice." He paused, not taking his eyes -- much more calm, now -- from her face as he thought for a few moments. "The gardens have been repaired, of course, in the past years -- they're really quite wonderful, now."
Marguerite gave a slight sigh, longing almost for her home in Paris,
"Well, at least something good has been done to improve the landscape. If the speakers do not speak of government, what do they speak of now?"
"I can't say as I've had time to listen to many. Philosophy in
general seems popular, though, at least in the evening ..."
Chauvelin had a sudden urge to sit as well, though he caught himself
before he moved at all. Once more he took a full look around their
portion of the garden, admiring various plants along the way. The
flora here was somewhat different, not all of it displeasing.
"Philosophy still seems like a worth subject," Marguerite said, almost
distantly. "I'm surprised you don't attend. You used to take me quiet
often, whether I wanted to go or not."
Genuinely surprised, Chauvelin nearly stepped back. "My job requires
more of me, these days ... and I'm afraid I don't recall ever taking
you against your will." Wondering if perhaps she had kept it from
him (in his excitement he had misjudged more than one person, it was
true), he stiffly added: "My apologies, anyhow, if that was the case."
Marguerite sighed and dropped her head, "It doesn't matter anyway, it's
not as if you manhandled me or such to bring me there." Marguerite
realized that the grounds had fallen quiet. the girls must be inside
studying she mused, meaning Percy was probably inside as well. Suddenly
realizing that she and Chauvelin were probably very alone, she grew tense
and nervous.
Quite aware that he had never 'manhandled' anyone he knew even
remotely well in his entire life, Chauvelin nodded, unsure whether he
should have been disappointed that any of her interest had been
feigned, or indeed never there at all. She was right, though; now it
mattered nothing. "I'm not sure I'm entirely familiar with British
issues of the day, if you'll forgive me; but what do you speak of
here, then? There must be a good deal."
"They speak of many thing, including France." Marguerite said,
remembering the bits of many conversations she overheard at the ball two
months ago, "Of course, here they have a different opinions of our
revolutions. Considering their recent loss in the new world though, it is
hardly surprising."
"Yes, that seems to have placed a considerable bias on many of our
neighbors, actually." Chauvelin looked out into the horizon,
watching the shadows on Blakeney's rather well-manicured yards. "We
have a few Americans in our ranks, now; a few of them are quite
insightful."
Marguerite merely shook her shoulders and turned her head. She truly was
in no mood for such a conversation, nor with him. She looked around
hoping for a distraction, any distraction,
Chauvelin was quite curious, in reality, as to what Marguerite
was feeling -- it was more than understandable that she might not
want to speak with him, but she didn't appear to be well at all, and
her nostalgic tone had thrown an entirely unexpected level to their
conversation, at least in his eyes. He wondered if she had truly
changed, or if perhaps he had simply misjudged her from the start,
and thought that if he could only see her face that he might know,
and cease with this mutual waste of time --
The agent stepped in closer to his former friend, not even sure
if she were paying attention to him any longer, and tried to gain
sight of her countenance.
The reflective surface continued to tell half the story to Percival
Blakeney as he remained still on the ground. He could not see her
face, nor this stranger on his land. The small gestures they made
were not those of casual friends, of this Blakeney spent his whole
life observing others and knew. The dress, the stature, was not of
an Englishman but rather of her home country. Narrowing his eyes,
the Baronet gritted his teeth and observed them standing there for
quite some time.
Their backs were to him, as his was to they, and Percy could only
make assumptions of the conversation that might have passed between
the two. The small movements of their arms and hands spoke of a
familiarity. They way Marguerite moved and this man followed... a
comfortableness? It was too hard to tell, but that did not stop
Blakeney's jealous mind from filling in the gaps. Finally when the
dark haired man moved far too close did the Baronet stir. "NOOOO!"
his lips parted and he yelled into the mirror.
Marguerite shot up at the sound of the yell. Immediately she moved in the
direction of the sound, towards to manor until she saw Percy laying in the
grass. Quickly Marguerite hastened her steps to where his was laying and
dropped down beside him. "Percy, Percy," she said as she looked over
him, "what is it, what's wrong?"
Startled into whirling towards the source of the sound, Chauvelin
stared, rather bewildered, as Marguerite rose to meet something --
Then he saw, as she knelt down into a not-too-distant patch of the
garden, from whom the disturbing sound had come. He did not follow
her, doubting that the man (apparently his host) would approve, but
merely wondered at the odd scene from a distance. It was the man's
own garden, after all, he did have a right to lie down wherever he
might choose ... nobles were often eccentric, weren't they?
The grin that grew largely inside of him, was not at all reflected on
his face. He still gripped the mirror tightly and sat up, looking
about confused, as if awoken from a bad dream. "Where am I?" He
reached up and scratched at his flowery adorned braids and looked
stupidly at Marguerite.
Marguerite gently rubbed his back as he sat up, "You're in the middle of
the lawn, Percy. Oh my poor Percy, did you fall asleep here on the lawn,
those two girls must have worn you out." Marguerite ran a hand through
his hair and gave a slight giggle, "Goodness Percy what happened to your
hair?"
From his Peripheral vision, the dark figure was seen not approaching, so Percy retreated from her touch in a rather dramatic way. "Please! Don't mess it." With a wobbly stance, Blakeney got to his feet and raised a pampered hand to dust the grass off his fine clothes. Shaking his head at Marguerite, Percy turned his gaze to the mirror and fussed over the braids she had touched. "Goodness. You had me scared to death," he blubbered.
Marguerite pulled back and let her face drop as Percy pulled away from
her. "I scared you? What's wrong Percy?" she said as she stood up
beside him, ignoring the many bits of grass and dust that now adorned her
own dress.
Unwilling to intrude upon the scene, the Frenchman instead gazed
towards the bench that Marguerite had formerly occupied. Likely he
should leave, before she had a chance to complain of anything to her
husband ... he did not particularly care to deal with the man, for
reasons not the least of which included his married status -- though
he seemed rather odd, in any case. Chauvelin admired a tree or two
until either of them saw fit to pay attention to him again.
Placing the hand with the mirror to his chest, he breathed, "Nothing,
I suppose really. Fitful of a daymare as far as daymares go. I
certainly hope I didn't startle you." He was making it a point to
not realize they were not alone. He glanced not once near Chauvelin,
but looked at Marguerite.
Marguerite gently tried to take his hands as he calmed down. "Oh no Percy
you didn't startle me, I'm fine, but are you sure alright? And do you
care to explain what happened to your hair." she added with a giggle.
"Nothing out of the ordinary for a lazy Tuesday." He smiled and
tossed a few of them around. "Dandy addition, I think." Since she
was not going to address the dark man, Blakeney forced the segue.
Giving a stretch, his head glanced over towards the garden. "Egad!
Don't look now, but we are not alone." He raised a quizzical brow in
the direction of Chauvelin.
Marguerite sighed as Percy looked to the side to see Chauvelin. "No it
seems as if we are not, but that can soon be remedied," Marguerite said
as she wrapped her arms around Percy's neck, placing a kiss on his
lips. She figured Armand would see it, and the imagine would make him
jealous if not enraged and hopefully hasten his departure.
Upon hearing his presence discussed, Chauvelin turned in time to
witness Marguerite's affections -- if he had ever been jealous of her
new life, or of her husband, he had not even managed to admit it to
himself. After all, what was she but a traitor, if perhaps misled to
such an end by wealth? While her action irked him, his sense of
pride would not allow for him to leave undismissed, of course. If
she wished him gone she would have to say so. He quickly put on a
slight smile for both of their benefits.
Unsure of where he wanted this to go, it was certain that Marguerite
had no interest in introducing her visiting friend to him. With an
embarrassed look, he too a hold of her arms and unwrapped them from
him. "Madame, please!" He cleared his throat and brought her arms
in front of her. Percy rambled, "It would be better thought of upon
me if the situation was not as such."
Marguerite giggled as Percy pulled away, "Don't worry about that
Percy. He's French and used to outward displays of affection." she
teased before leaning up for another kiss.
He did not allow her to kiss him twice. "Perhaps, but I certainly am
still English on English soil." Again Percy hold of her arms and
kept her at a bay's length so she could not do as she wished.
"And so for a wife to ask a little affection from her husband in their own
home is too much then." Marguerite said with sadness written in her eyes.
He said nothing but held her gaze sternly. The waiting game.
The agent was growing impatient -- this was certainly not an uncommon
occurrence, although at times he had very little right to do so. As
he was currently little better than an intruder, perhaps today might
have warranted some tolerance. Either way, he could not keep smiling
slightly at the happy couple forever, without producing some
awkwardness ... he waited, however, unwilling to take even a rather
stinging hint.
Coming into the garden as unobtrusively as possible, Frank made his
way to where Percy and Marguerite were standing. "Lunch is ready to
be served. Will Lady Blakeney's guest be staying?"
Marguerite finally broke her sad gaze from Percy when Frank
interrupted. "No, no Frank, he will not be staying, no doubt he has
important business to attend to elsewhere." Marguerite said before
turning back to Percy, "and I doubt I'll have much of an appetite."
Frank looked between the three a bit quizzically before nodding to
Percy and Marguerite. "Of course, Madame. Let me know if you need
anything else."
"I do not think I will require anything more from you, other then removing
one of the place setting." Marguerite said. "Now excuse me, I need to see
my visitor off."
Keeping only minimal tabs on the conversation, Chauvelin registered
vaguely that Marguerite would be reappearing soon, or so it seemed.
His visit had been less than productive, although quite enjoyable, as
long as the conversation had lasted ... he turned his face back the
gardens, away from the group to his side.
Marguerite hastily left Frank and Percy behind and carefully reproached
Armand. "I assume you'll be heading back towards London this afternoon,
unless your business talked you elsewhere today."
"I don't know where it will take me, this afternoon -- likely London,
yes, though I believe I have a few more visits to make, nearby."
Chauvelin bowed again, more shallow than before. "Your company has
been most enjoyable, of course. Do wish your husband a good day for
me."
"I wish I could say the same of your company." Marguerite said, a little
cooler then she had meant to, "Yet, I will pass your wishes onto my
husband."
He raised one eyebrow and glanced over at Blakeney as he made his
farewell. Chauvelin ignored her fist comment. "Thank you -- he
seems like a very interesting man; next time I shall have to meet
him. But," he continued, dipping again to take her hand, "Obviously
he is quite busy." The agent kissed her fingers, stepped back, and
prepared to take his leave. "It's been most enjoyable."
The stubborn game between the Blakeney is resumed as if no days had
passed and no common ground or understanding were felt between them.
Percy's paranoia came back in full and Marguerite's unwillingness to
share information with him again, built up the wall. He stood there
in shock when she repeatedly dodged his segues of introducing her
friend. Whatever she might have said to Frank after that, he did not
hear nor pay attention to. The Baronet returned to his obsessive
nature inside his head, and try as he may, Blakeney could not let go
of these awful thoughts.
Without so much as a glance to Frank, since Marguerite left his side,
he raised a hand, cried out, "Toddles!" to the man he was not meant
to meet. Gravely disappointed once more, the tall Englishman turned
for the house.
Marguerite roughly pulled her hand back as he kissed her fingers and
pulled it behind her. "I will see you out." Marguerite said as she lead
him around the side of the house, rather then inside where Percy had been
heading, and towards his carriage. She stepped at a quick pace and hoped
he was following at the same pace behind. the sooner he left the better
off she would be.
His eyes caught the gesture, jealous as he already was. The kissing
of the dark haired man's lips on his wife's fingertips. Uncertain of
what to do, Percy whipped his head forward again, some of the flowers
falling out of the braids. His mind imagined what wonderful gesture
Marguerite must be doing behind his back... if she was going to
return the man's chivalry with a kiss, he did not wish to see this.
After entering the manor, his angry eyes scanned the interior,
looking for something, anything, that he could use as an excuse.
There! Across the way in the foyer.
Sprinting like a mad man down the long hallway, Blakeney skidded to a
halt just before the front door and took out one of the long pink
parasol's from the cane holder in the doorway. Opening it up in
haste, Percy peeked out from behind the lace window covering. Yes.
There they were. Coming around the corner.
With a dramatic bursting open of the door, he strutted out of the
house with a laugh and called out, "Dear heart! Lover lips! Lady
Blakeney! Please, if you wish to partake in strolling about so, dare
not forget this." Swaying the open parasol about him, Percy closed
the distance between himself and the two. "Heavens! The sun
threatens to commit murder to one's skin today."
Marguerite nearly jump with fright as she was startled by Percy's sudden
calling. She did not wish for the two men too meet, but at the same time
was relived to no longer be alone with Chauvelin. She immediately went to
Percy's side, gently taking the parasol and placing a soft kiss on his
cheek. "Why thank you Percy, that's so thoughtful of you to bring me my
parasol for shade. Oh though I must admit I was just about to go inside,
once seeing my visitor," she refused to use the word guest as Chauvelin
would never be welcomed into her home, "off on his way."
Enough of this constant evasion. "Madame! You are in England.
Where be your manners say?" Looking with quite the grin at
Chauvelin, a happy sort of stare that lasted more than it should
have, Percy took his eyes from the other man and glanced down at his
pocket watch. "Lud! Tis time for lunch and certainly your traveling
visitor would rather not burden his empty stomach to the road so
soon?"
Moving near Chauvelin, curious of this man, he took out his eye glass
and held it up within inches of Armand's face. "My oh me. Aren't
you a most handsome fellow here to Blakeney Manor today? Do say you
will join us. I insist!" Returning the glass to his finely stitched
pocket, Percy smiled at Chauvelin as if the man were the finest pair
of boots. Standing a mere inches away from the dark haired man, he
refused from the man's personal space.
Marguerite's heart stopped for a moment. Percy had just invited Chauvelin
to dine with them! "Oh no Percy, he has to go now. He has import
business that must be attended to I'm sure." Marguerite said as she
stepped closer to Percy, putting her hand on his arm and urging him gently
away from Chauvelin.
"Pish posh! No business is so important that a traveling man should
neglect his stomach." Eyeing Chauvelin again, Percy giggled. "And
with such a frame, more than one meal certainly wouldn't hurt. Do
come." With that, Blakeney took the arm of this man and began to
lead him inside, brushing his wife off his other arm. He would learn
what Marguerite was so quick to cover and hide.
Chauvelin bore the man's curiously-styled insults with a slightly
dazed, tight smile ("Love lips"? How very ... quaint), and looked
occasionally to Marguerite. She was quite obviously set against his
remaining, and he should not upset her, most likely -- but for
reasons unknown to him, the husband was equally adamant that he
stay ... perhaps he was only being polite, but it did not seem so.
Times like these he rather wished he could speak the language
without so much of an accent. Pulling slightly away from the man's
grip, though not enough to be rude, he answered: "I'm afraid --
you'll forgive me if I don't remember the correct form of address;
Sir Percival, is it? -- I've left my companions waiting at the inn,
in London, and I do believe they'd worry. As much as I would love to
stay, I only stopped in to say hello to Lady Blakeney before going on
my way."
"You see Percy," Marguerite said taking Percy's arm again, "he is very
busy and is needed back in London. Now, we mustn't keep his other
acquaintances waiting and we must let him get back to his duties."
Marguerite's persistence was grating over his nerves at the
moment; if she continued as such he might well *offer* to stay,
regardless of what kind of company Blakeney himself might be. He
waited for her husband's response, in any case, unwilling to tell
anyone who, precisely, he had left back at his hotel room.
With great ease, he ignored his wife and kept his eyes locked
swooning on Chauvelin. He heard Marguerite and felt her tugging on
him, however, nothing was going to pull him away from this role or
scene. Enter England's biggest fool Sir Percy, stage right.
"Oh bother, I'd really had hoped a charming man like you would stay.
Your friends in an London Inn? With travel times so, from Richmond
to London, they certainly would not notice if you had a quick bite
with me." He once more took Chauvelin arm by means of an escort
and gestured at the doorway to the Manor. "Now I promise not to keep
you more than 30 minutes. And please, call me Sir Percy. It does
roll off the tongue with a bit of ease."
"Sir Percy ... of course. A pleasure to meet you, I'm sure, even if
our visit must be cut short." Thirty minutes would not have been too
much of a burden, but Marguerite's glares might well scald him before
that time was up ...
Taking a step inside, he turned his head and gazed upon the
Frenchman. Hearing the accent confirmed his suspicions and the dark
clothing snapped a memory in his head. "Certainly we have met
before, so under mannered am I. I recall a most informal meeting at
a quaint little eatery back in France. Good wine, however the duck I
had ordered certainly lacked proper menu billing. Billing! Ah ha!
I crack myself up like an egg in a bakery!" With that, Sir Percy
tossed his head back and laughed, his flowery braids swatting
Chauvelin in the face.
"Yes, in the inn ... as a matter of fact, I do remember, Sir Percy.
Although there, as well, I'm afraid I hadn't the privilege of
getting to meet you. Lady Blakeney is rather too private." He gave
a small smile.
"Oh dear me! I am so sorry Sir!" Reaching up with his gloved hand,
Blakeney ran a finger across the cheek of the shorter man, a little
more slowly than normal. Calling upon his will, the Baronet forced
his voice low as if he were enchanting a woman, "I do hope you can
forgive me."
Chauvelin very nearly stepped back, managing half a second before
giving in to his gut reaction of jerking away to merely smile tightly
once again, pull only minimally from the man's grip, and mutter a
quiet reprieve.
"No nono. Don't be like that. The lunch will soothe your stomach
and I know Lady Blakeney will scald nothing save a frying pan." He
took both of their arms now and stepped inside the grand foyer. "In
fact, I can't recall a time she would have had to do that here."
Once more, Sir Percy gave his inane laugh and in his silliness,
called out to Thomas to set a table for three for lunch.
Marguerite almost angrily pulled her arm from Percy's grasp. "Now Percy,
you've already heard what he's said. He has people waiting for him in
London and must return there. After all, considering all the times you
rush off for business without warning, you cannot really expect him to
stay and ignore his other responsibilities."
"If you insist, Sir Percy, I would not refuse you twenty minutes or
so, but it is true that I have people waiting for me, in London."
Marguerite seemed rather insistent; he wondered whether it was worth
staying, after all ...
He gave Margot a bit of a frightful look but smiled hearing his
*guest* accept. "Don't we all have someone waiting?" He said this
almost like a purr. Clapping his hands in front of him, Sir Percy
demanded the attention of Thomas and gave the orders for the meal and
its timeliness. Like a schoolboy with a new toy, he sat and crossed
over one leg onto his knee. The giggling continued, "Do tell me how
you two met!"
"He visited my salon once or twice, accompanying some friends I believe,
wasn't that it?" Marguerite hastily said.
"Yes, indeed." Chauvelin re-enforced her argument, smirking only
slightly at her urgency. "Always an interesting conversation to be
had; and as I recall, the food was agreeable, as well. More care-
free days, in any case ..."
Chauvelin stood there and agreed. He said, "Yes, I always had an
interesting conversation, there."
Observing their behavior, seeing how he was the only one sitting, he
patted the chairs next to him and laughed. "Come now, I promise not
to bite a thing except the meal. Do sit do sit. Rather a clever
one, my wife, so I'm told." Keeping eye-contact with Chauvelin,
Marguerite might as well have not even existed. Sir Percy leaned in
near Chauvelin and asked coyly, "You never did tell me your name
Mister Frenchman."
Reluctant to sit before Lady Blakeney had, Chauvelin nevertheless
lowered himself to sit beside the Englishman. "She is indeed -- the
cleverest in France, as it was often said." This time he was
prepared for the man's behavior, and merely smiled, unsure of what
to think of his intellect, or anything else. "Chauvelin, sir.
Armand Chauvelin."
He laughed and sat back in his chair. "Sink me! Are all the French
men named that Arm and Hand name? I could visit France and even I
could remember Arm and Hand!" He looked at Marguerite, "Dearest
dear, you never told me they were related!"
Marguerite didn't say anything. Rather she simply sat down next to Percy,
on the other side from Chauvelin. A member of the kitchen staff came out
and began to add the two additional place settings. Beginning to attend
to her spot, Marguerite shook her head, "Oh, that won't be necessary. I'm
really not that hungry this afternoon." she said softly.
Her ignoral was not overlooked, but certainly not addressed.
Snapping wildly at the servant Gail, Percy laughed, "Strike a dog
dead if she's not hungry. Said you would eat as long as I was by
your side, were those not your words dearest?"
Marguerite, slightly defeated, nodded her head. She promised to eat and
make herself well for him after the state he had found her a few days
ago. Gail brought the setting back out and placed it in front of her.
Tying his napkin around his neck, Sir Percy took hold of his knife
and fork and stared straight ahead. "Bring on the feast and wine!"
Marguerite looked back up from her setting as Percy prepared for his
meal. With a swift movement she pulled the napkin from his collar and
laid it over his lap, letting her hand brush his thigh a bit as she looked
into his eyes as if to command him, 'behave.'