These demmed French rebels.
They make it so difficult for one to enjoy oneself when one is a guest of the royal family at Versailles, which Ffoulkes, Tony, and I happen to be at present. I suppose they must have a good cause and all that, I know for a fact many of them have been treated in a beastly fashion by their aristocratic countrymen, but do they have to be so loud about it? My latest journey through France has left me with little but a headache. I have come to the conclusion that all Frenchmen are excitable little puppies with nothing better to do than argue with each other. Nevertheless, I shan’t be the one to let their petty quarrels unsettle my healthy English indifference. I daresay I shall find something to amuse me during my stay here. A shame none of the natives have the patience for cricket.

I arrived early last month, with two excited traveling companions in toe. Ffoulkes and Tony, who have been to France but rarely, were eager to see the sights and do everything one does on these holidays, which no longer hold charms for me as I have spent so much of my life here already. But, being the obliging friend that I am, willingly did I acquiesce to their plans to amuse themselves and silenced all my protestations. Though I love them dearly, I have never spent a less agreeable afternoon in their company than the first one of our stay here. And now, four weeks later, I sit alone on the terrace overlooking yet another dull rose garden (King Louis has several here), and wondering to myself what has made me so glum.

I venture to guess I sound just about as tedious and dull as one proper British fellow can be, but much to my chagrin, there seems to be very little I can do about it. I have been feeling particularly bored of late; my excessive travel abroad now gives me little of its former pleasure. I thought at first that perhaps I was longing to be back at home in England, but found when I got there it was worse than being abroad. I’m just restless I suppose, tired of living like everybody else does. I seem to catch myself often wishing there was more to my existence than making social appearances and arranging trifling estate matters every once in a while. There ain’t much to be done for it though, and I suppose I’ll get through tolerably.

It isn’t as if I don’t enjoy society, I do. In fact, there is little else that gives me more pleasure. I am happy to admit that the company of a few frivolous busybodies, an old school chum or two, and a pretty, clever woman here and there make me just as happy as anyone. At a ball, there is scarcely ever a gentleman more inclined to make himself agreeable than I. At a garden party, never is a young man’s company more kindly solicited than those who seek after mine. But somehow, the compliments of society and my own efforts to deserve them leave me with little satisfaction. I grow disgusted with the gossip and indifferent to the shallow charms of fashionable young ladies. While my friends find simple pleasure in dancing and flirtation, I find myself at a loss to fathom why. Sink me if I ain’t becoming a demmed serious bloke! At this rate I shall give myself gray hair by the age of thirty.

The truth is, I have always enjoyed life, enjoyed it very much. I see no reason why I should all of a sudden become tired of living it the way I always have. Perhaps I’ve just temporarily lost my usual perspective. I suppose this jaunt to France shall cure me. This country has always had a calming effect upon me, which is why I venture to guess all the hubbub going on around here of late has disturbed me. It’s not pleasant for anyone to see the place where they spent most of their childhood plagued with social unrest and imbalance. But doubtless the company of Ffoulkes and Tony will cheer me if France cannot. They’re like brothers to me, only we manage to get along with one another. Tolerably.

Tonight we attend a banquet her majesty the queen is giving, in order to honor some regiment of the army or some such business; I never do see any good reason to be attentive when such things are announced, and so I am bereft of that rather useful information. Supposedly, she is to have three hundred people in attendance, and I fear me three poor and defenseless Englishmen will get entirely swallowed up in the crowd. Even so, we are all quite determined to go; Tony, I predict, will insist on it for the food, Andrew for the delightful company of young ladies, and I- to laugh at any Frenchmen who cannot decently tie his own cravat (a sight I have always found amusing). There, it is proved. All three of us are hopeless. But I daresay we shall enjoy ourselves in spite of it. It is after all, our last evening in France before we must leave for the East tomorrow morning.

And now that I’ve managed to cheer myself up a bit on the subject which I have nearly taken to brooding over for the past few weeks, I will challenge my present good humor and my companions to a game a cricket. I wonder if his majesty is in the habit of keeping balls and a bat about his stuffy palace...

My eyes focused upon my pale vert slippers and the hem of my evening gown. A safe spot to look, I suppose, for that simple moment as I took a few more steps forward and one to the right. Finally in position, I set a smile upon my lips and looked up steadily.

Immediately, my gaze caught a pair of clear blue eyes. The eyes instantly betrayed everything about their owner: the sweetness, the vicious nature so unlike everything else propriety requires, and, above all, the joie de vivre that shone through no matter what the circumstances. Turning this thought aside, I broke the gaze of the eyes, concentrating on other aspects of the person before me. The fashionable evening wear in stunning emerald green, the gently teasing smile that played on the edge of the lips, and the auburn curls that shone brightly in the light. A stunning sight to behold, some perhaps would say.

I turned and walked away from the mirror. I had considered powdering my hair for the occasion, I was after all going to a banquet hosted by the Queen of France, however I had fallen short on time. Smiling, I stooped down and retrieved my script from its position on the floor, its tired and bedraggled state proof of the long hours I had spent pouring over it. This evening was no exception; I had been once more studying my part for the play opening next week. I knew my part from top to bottom, I knew the stage direction, I knew the songs, but I could not understand my character. The lines sounded false every time I tried them, and it was beginning to frustrate the other performers and especially myself.

“Marguerite, have you been working? Your character is not pert, she is in love! Work, Marguerite! Work!”

The lines of the directors rang in my ears, as though I had not heard them several times before. Yes, I knew the lines! Yes, I knew she was not as I showed her! Yet this was my chance, my start in the theaters. I could not fail now.

I pushed the thought aside quickly, standing to place the script back on the table. Yes, I had very nearly been late, studying the part once more, hoping for some new way of playing this mindless girl. I had lost track of the time as I nearly always do when practicing. Fortunately for moi, Armand has become used to this and came to my rescue, calling in to see if I was getting ready.

I reached out to take my fan from the bedside table and my hand fell upon a piece of parchment I had set there earlier. Seizing that instead, I sat upon my bed to read the invitation once more.

“Her Majesty, the Queen of France requests your presence for a great banquet to be held at the palace of Versailles to celebrate the instating of the new military officers of Flanders. The banquet shall be held October the fourth, in this year of 1789.”

I tried to disperse the thought that had been haunting me as of late, but they attacked me once more.

The lovely Marguerite St. Just. That actress woman. Does nobody know me as anything but that?

I flung the invitation aside, as though convinced I would somehow send the thought away as well. In a way it seemed to work for, as the paper fluttered to the floor, a timid knock sounded at my door.

I looked up in happiness. Just the diversion I needed for such a moment.

“Come in,” I called, the door soon opening slowly to admit one Suzanne de Tournay, the adorable girl I had long since been friends with. The little darling kept my wits about me, and I seemed to entertain her. I smiled happily and rushed forward to take her hands, happy she would be joining Armand and I at the banquet this evening.

“My little Suzanne, you look lovely this evening.”

She blushed softly, her meek eyes smiling up at me.

“I feel so nervous, Marguerite. I shall not know what to say.”

“That is I what I am here for, my little dear. Just be your charming self and you shall have no end of male admirers this evening.”

From somewhere down the hall, I heard my brother’s voice calling out to me.

“Margot, the carriage is here.”

A reassuring smile on my face, I grabbed my fan from off the table and guided Suzanne out the door and down the hallway.

“Percy! Are you resolved to spend all night in there? We were officially late an hour late fifteen minutes ago. Will you waste another?”

Tony’s pathetic pleas barely made their way through my door before the sound of his impatient fists beating on it drowned out his voice. I couldn’t help but laugh at him, waving away my valet who was trying desperately to come between me and my cravat.

“You certainly are ruffled tonight, my dear Tony,” I called back to him through the door, “There wouldn’t be a lady you’re anxious to see at her majesty’s banquet, is there?” I slapped Fisher’s hand as he once more reached in to tie a potentially hopeless knot in my cravat. “How many times must I tell you that I will see to my own cravat, man?” I hissed.

“My apologies, sir.”

“Oh, it’s all very well, I suppose. You’re dismissed.”

“A lady!” Tony exclaimed, after delaying a few seconds, most likely to gain control of his temper. “What does a lady...” Fisher opened the door to let himself out. Seizing his chance, Tony rushed into the room and placed himself between me and the mirror. “What has a lady to do with any of it? Do you think I want the entire royal court of France to think us the rudest young bucks ever to disgrace society with our tardy presence? At this rate we’ll be two hours late! I don’t wish my first appearance here to scar the rest of them simply because you detained us for hours on end. Did you ever think of that, my friend?”

“Of course I did, my good man, and not to worry. I planned to be fashionably late, naturally! Now, if you will not be so kind as to move, and soon, we shall assuredly be at least four hours late, for you see, I simply can’t attend a party with my cravat hanging down around my knees.” I chuckled and slapped his shoulder, giving him a rough and playful push to the side. For some reason, I was in particularly good humor tonight; I felt an anticipation I hadn’t in months. Grinning foolishly at Tony and then my reflection, I began to retie my cravat.

“Sometimes I wonder if you ever bother to think seriously at all, Percy,” muttered Tony, finding it difficult to evade my contagious good mood. Soon he gave up and was smiling back at me, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Oh, on the contrary, my dear fellow, I have the same ability to think seriously as any man. Only, I make sure never to display my talent in public.”

“You, not display in public? Perhaps I don’t know you as well as I thought, Percy.”

“I think you know me better than you think you do, Tony.”

“Indeed? Then will you oblige a knowing friend and hurry along?” He folded his arms and gave my cravat (the cause of his distress) a mock look of disapproval.

Laughing, I consented. “As you wish, sir. I’ll meet you and Ffoulkes out in that sitting room just down the hall, the one with the perfectly beastly color scheme. I shan’t be longer than five minutes.”

Tony shot me a wary glance, still skeptic. “Are you quite certain that’s all you’ll need, Percy?”

I laughed at him again. “No.”

Fifteen minutes later (I managed to finish my cravat and make it to the sitting room in eight), Tony, Ffoulkes, and I stepped into the carriage and started off for one of the many banquet halls at Versailles. This one just so happened to be the farthest from our quarters (a minute fraction of the enormous edifice in which they were housed) and since Versailles is so magnificently oversized itself, getting from one place to another within it sometimes requires the use of a carriage. I need not add that this arrangement seems to me, an English gentleman, to be purposelessly extravagant and demmed embarrassing.

“Do you think there’ll be anyone we know from Harrow there?” asked Ffoulkes absentmindedly, staring blankly out the window. “Or even London in general.”

“Quiet likely,” I mumbled, fiddling with the lace on my cuff for lack of a better thing to do. “Every time I’m here I manage to run into some fellow Englishman or another. I suppose that will all change in the near future though.”

Tony’s head popped up, disappointment obvious on his face. “Change? Why? Do you propose that all Englishmen will soon find France no longer desirous of their company?”

“I do.” I said gravely. “Surely you haven’t failed to notice the increasing unrest here, and especially in Paris when we passed through it last month. It will all come to a climax at any time now, and when it does, the presence of a wealthy Englishman will not be welcome to those fighting for liberty and equality. It’s just as well that we’re leaving tomorrow, I suppose.”

“Do you think anything could happen that soon, Percy?” asked Andrew, who was now paying his full attention to Tony and I.

“It’s impossible to tell. These things always alter from day to day. Yesterday may have been stormy, but today is fair, and tomorrow might be worse than anyone could ever have imagined. I wish there was something to do about it, but at present, it seems a hopeless business, at least for England to sort out. If the French are to be saved from themselves, they’re the only ones who can do it now. Revolutions are always easier to stop when they haven’t put their roots down very far.”

“Revolution?” whispered Tony, his face paling in the darkness.

“I’m afraid so, my dear fellow. Did you think those demmed Frenchies were going to settle all their differences with a duel?” I chuckled, trying to brighten the mood. Both Tony and Andrew were looking a little glum. “Come come, boys! You ain’t going to spoil our last night at Versailles by moping about as if the whole world may crumble tomorrow! I should be devilishly cross with you two if you ruined my evening. Cheer up, or I shall order the carriage to turn round immediately!”

Not believing a word of my threat, Andrew and Tony endeavored to be amiable anyway, sitting up straighter and making feeble attempts to smile. It was a pathetic sight to behold, but I knew better than to disclose this fact to them. “That’s it, m’ dear fellows.” I congratulated, “don’t let those hot tempered Frenchies spoil our fun, what? I say, here we are, that didn’t take long.”

“We’ve crossed a few courtyards, Percy, hardly a remarkable journey. We could have made it on foot.” Andrew looked unamused.

“Ah, on foot, but hardly in style. Think of it- we’d have to bother with boots and extra coats, scarves, and all those troublesome things, and by the time we got them all off, the banquet would be over and we’d have to put everything back on again. Besides the fact we’d look extremely silly walking while everyone else pulled up in a carriage ornately decorated for the occasion. I’m surprised you didn’t think of it, Ffoulkes.”

Andrew smiled and rolled his eyes. “You my friend, are a mass of contradictions!”

The footman opened the door and the three of us climbed out. “Thank you, Ffoulkes,” I said, the last to jump down from the carriage. “ I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Suzanne seemed content to stare out the window ~ the dear always fell silent when nervous ~ so I happily did the same. A suitable time had presented itself for a brief amount of peace and quiet, something I would find rare in the hours ahead.

Please do not misunderstand me, I love banquets. I adore being around people, being the center of attention. Being able to display the wit which keeps me the gossip of all Paris. (Although most of the gossip comes simply from my position as an actress rather than any witty remark I have ever made.) And yet, I sometimes find myself wondering what it would be like to not have to be witty. To simply be quiet and yet to have spoken as much. I can do this at times with Armand, my dear brother. He can understand how I feel simply by what I don’t say. But, perhaps with another...

I shook my head gently, smiling softly. All this is foolishness. I am Marguerite St. Just, actress, wit, beauty, and above all down to earth. Never one to lose my head to fantasies of that thing I sing of at the Comedie Francaise on occasion: love.

I laughed inwardly at the thought. Myself in love? An odd thought, indeed. Perhaps that is why I cannot grasp the character I have fought with for so long. She is the heroine, a strong-hearted woman, yet I cannot see why she is so silly, so melodramatic, so unsure. As though love had somehow destroyed every bit of sense she once held about her. If this is what love is like, I hope never to succumb to its destroying hand.

I felt Armand’s hand touch mine gently, and by turning to face him I saw him watching me most wonderingly. I realized that my jaw had tightened and my chin had been raised defiantly, as though to ward off any vestige of love floating in the air with my angry glare. I suddenly realized how odd I must look, and started laughing.

Armand stared at me as though I was surely insane. I simply smiled and turned back to the window.

No, I would not allow myself to lose my wits over a triviality such as love. I loved my brother, I loved my friends, and I loved my position in life. That would be enough for me. I did not need more, I did not want more.

Besides, I giggled. No man I could ever want would ever be able to put up with me.

The carriage started to slow, and my thoughts began to return to the scenery around us. We had arrived at the palace, our carriage one of many stopping briefly to leave it’s occupants to the mercy of over three hundred guests invited for the evening. We passed by a carriage disposing of its inhabitants, two English busybodies and their obviously annoyed husbands. As I watched the two women climb down from the carriage, barely taking a breath so as to convey their oh-so-important gossip, my thoughts spoke of their own accord.

That must be wonderful.

Had the words been spoken aloud, I would have laughed mercilessly at the person who saw fit to speak such blasphemy in my presence. However, as I had been the offender and the words had come in the form of a thought no one else could hear, I contented myself with being most shocked and trying to figure where such a thought would’ve sprung from.

I queried myself and found simply this. That those women had nothing demanded of them. They were born to a higher class and therefore were not expected to be anything more than they were: Gossipy old busybodies. They could waste their lives away and no one would think anything of it. And yet, should I attend a party and not make at least one witty remark, everyone would think me either ill or losing my touch.

My thoughts turned to a friend of mine, a member of my small group of witty friends about Paris. Chauvelin. His first name escaped me now; he was of the sort that preferred the mysteriousness of the last name. And he was never a ‘monsieur’. But he was notorious for bringing some revolutionary comment into conversations, hidden discreetly beneath ordinary words. “Perhaps the future will bring change.”, “Someday things will be different.”, “No place can stay the same forever.” I wonder what his remark would be, could he see me here now, hear my thoughts.

As the carriage rumbled to a halt, I ended my own conversation with simply this:
I fight harder for my position, for I demand more out of life.

That happy thought in mind, I accepted Armand’s aid in removing myself from the carriage as well as his arm in climbing the stairs to this great palace, the entryway bathed in flickering lights from the glow of the great torches. The murmur of voices greeted us, warning us of the excess of humanity within the walls. And yet we joined the crowd, Suzanne quietly shirking from the masses, Armand holding my arm ever tighter, and myself growing more and more alive from the stage set before me. An unknown thrill shot through me, and I accredited it to the knowledge that I knew and understood the character I would be playing this evening.

Despite Tony’s fears, or perhaps because of them, we arrived in plenty of time to be fashionably late and still retain some shred of dignity. In fact, there were several other guests with exactly the same idea, the older of which filed up the front steps before us in the typically pompous manner of European nobility. Ffoulkes, Tony, and I couldn’t help laughing as we were caught behind a group of particularly amusing elderly ladies, who’s swaying backsides and overgrown feathers were excessively diverting. But we endeavored to hide our amusement as best we could and did not look at one another for fear of a wild and uncontrollable outburst on the steps. I was tempted to mimic one of them ascending “gracefully” but refrained for the sake of my future reputation.

I was about to mention to Tony how amusing it would be if the one in front of him tripped over the hem of her skirt and fell back into his chivalrous arms, when something else caught the corner of my eye. When I turned my head, I was surprised to find that the object which demanded my attention was in actuality, a mass of fiery auburn curls some fifteen steps above me. They had caught the light from one of the torches burning outside the massive doors to the entry, and once I had looked upon them, it was hard to glance away again. I am at a loss to discern why they were so enthralling, but for some unaccountable reason, those auburn curls were quite nearly hypnotic. And yet before I had completely realized their power over me, they had disappeared from the steps and into the crowd.

“Percy. Peeer-cy. Percy! PERCY!!”

“What? What’s going on?! Did you say something, Ffoulkes? Tony?”

My companions rolled their eyes. “You were about to walk straight into and topple over the yards of fabric attached to Madame Frou-Frou’s hind end, that’s all,” Tony smirked.

“Nothing to concern yourself over.” Ffoulkes added.

“What?!” I felt my cheeks getting hot and good English sheepishness crawling down my veins.

They found this immensely funny and began to laugh at me. Their merriment did not subside for quite some time. “Never mind, old fellow,” gasped Andrew, when he had somewhat recovered. “No harm done, we might as well forget it!”

“Yes, indeed,” seconded Tony, whipping tears from his eyes.

“I don’t see why it’s all so funny. The same could have happened to either of you.”

“Agreed,” said Andrew. “It could just as easily have happened to Tony or I, correct, Tony?”

“Oh of course, but Percy would have looked the funniest draped over the back of that woman’s skirts!”

At this, my supposed “friends” burst into another bout of laughter, and I walked on ahead of them, tired of being ridiculed and eager to seek out the arresting auburn curls amongst the rest of the crowd, before they disappeared for good.

My resolve upon finding the lady with the auburn hair was however impeded by the “good intentions” of several twittering ladies and talkative gentlemen of my Parisian acquaintance. They descended upon me in a great swarm as soon as I had stepped into the entry hall. I was therefore obliged to stand stationary and be amiable while enduring their small talk and agreeing to all their opinions, as a discussion would keep me bound to them for longer than I cared to be.

At last I was able to make my way through those who wished to detain me and neared the grand staircase leading down into the banqueting room. The caller stood at the top of the stairs and proclaimed each guest’s name as they proceeded downward, most bearing contemptible expressions and apparently feeling their own superiority. I smiled. What society in general needed was a swift kick in the pants, and then some good mindless humor to liven things up a bit. I sighed. “Oh well...”

I was about to reach the stairs myself, when once more, the corner of my eye was caught by a flash of light off something reddish-brown. I turned my head a little, and saw her. Well, part of her. Most of her face was hidden from my view, and there was a blonde young lady standing in between her and myself, but never the less, I managed a glimpse. She was standing across the room, near the door, and was engaged in conversation with the blonde girl and another young gentleman, who appeared from my vantage point to be rather short.

I stood on my toes to try and get a better look, only to find myself pulled back down again by a hand jerking at my elbow. The same hand gripped my shoulder and spun me around, entirely destroying my view of the lady and nearly knocking me off my feet.

“Blakeney? I say, I thought it was you! Saw you from not ten yards off and thought to myself, ‘Could it be? No! Percy Blakeney, here? I must be daft!’ But here you are my good man, and looking very well at that, too!”

I smiled weakly, trying to evade the smell of liquor on his breath. “Mr. Hurst, what a... pleasant surprise.”

“Pleasant surprise, indeed! Is that anyway to greet your old chum? What have you been doing with yourself, old boy?”

“Traveling,” I said unenthusiastically, trying to look over my shoulder as discreetly as I could. I only managed to get the corner of my left eye in the right direction, and could see nothing out of it. “Traveling with Ffoulkes and Dewhurst.”

“Never were one to stay in the same place for long, were you, Blakeney? Ha! I wish I was as free as you are, old chap, but unfortunately...” he looked around quickly and lowered his voice, “Louisa ain’t about to turn me loose.” He grinned broadly and then began to rock back and forth on his heels with laughter. His faced turned bright red and his ample waistline shook merrily. I joined in (rather at him than with him, I’m ashamed to confess) and let him lead me on when he took my arm.

“Come, dear fellow, let’s be off to the food and drink before the wife finds me!” Resistence would have been futile. He dragged me past the caller (who without our names could make no introduction) and down the elegantly carpeted steps, making me quite afraid that he would snag himself on one of them and topple over the rest (with me in toe) before we reached the bottom. We, however, managed to make it all the way down in one piece, and within a few moments of our having done so, Hurst found a more amusing companion than I to become inebriated with. I smiled after his wobbly retreating figure. Humanity is a funny thing.

“Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Lord Anthony Dewhurst!”

I turned to see my friends descend the staircase, looking as if they had quite recovered from their previous hilarity and were bent upon being amiable for the rest of the evening. I prayed that was the case.

“Percy, where the devil did you disappear to?” asked Tony hurriedly when they had picked me out from the crowd and strode over to where I stood. “We looked for you in the entry hall for nearly ten minutes. Why didn’t you wait for us?”

“Wait to be poked fun at and made a fool of?” I cried, feigning indignity. “You are beastly fellows, I declare! What’s a poor man to do?”

Andrew laughed. “It’s useless to fight it Percy. You were born to always be the fool.”

“How delightful.” I mumbled. “Any further insight into my future, gentleman?”

“Mlle. Marguerite St. Just!”

Following the sound of the caller’s voice, in mere curiosity, I turned my eyes toward the stairs. I don’t know just who I expected to see there, but when my gaze rested on the tall, confident, and gorgeous woman that stood there on the steps, I quite forgot about everything else. It was her. I knew it even before I noticed the light from a hundred chandeliers flash off the auburn waves of her hair. It seemed as if the whole of the vast room had gone completely silent as they stared in breathless admiration of her.

There she stood, perched regally on the top step, dressed like royalty, and surveying the company bellow with a tiny amused smile playing at the corners of her lips. Her every aspect was dazzlingly beautiful. She began to move downward, slowly and majestically, followed by the two who had been with her in the entry hall, now strangely insignificant standing behind her. Their names were lost on my ears as I watched the radiating Marguerite St. Just descend from her throne.

I stood at the top of the staircase, looking down upon the vast gathering below. It seemed not unlike an ocean, ready to swallow one another at but a moment’s notice and without a scrap of remorse. As my name echoed across the great hall, I could not help pausing yet another moment upon this pinnacle of power. I felt as though someone was staring at me quite intently, yet everyone within eye’s reach seemed contentedly wrapped up in their own lives, just as they had always been.

I shrugged away the feeling, plastering a large and charming smile on my face as I began the journey down the stairs.

It seemed an eternity before she had at last reached the bottom step. As she came it, everyone appeared to leaned forward, waiting for the sound of her shoe tapping against the marble floor. I heard it. And as soon as she was standing amongst the company, everyone became alive again. In my stupor I had failed to realize many of them had, in fact, never been hypnotized by this goddess at all. A great sea of humanity began to swirl around her, and she was lost to my sight.

I shook my head, unsure of what had just come over me, and not certain that I liked it. What ever it was, it refused to go away completely. I put my hand to my temple and tried to rub away the dizzy feeling that hung there. My heart was beating at a furious pace, for no apparent reason at all, and I became frustrated with myself. Who is this girl? I don’t even know her and yet she makes my head spin. Demmed uncomfortable, and very odd to say the least. Perhaps I’m just coming down with something, or spent too many hours in the sun playing cricket...

Tony’s voice began to filter through my clearing thoughts. He was speaking to Ffoulkes. “It’s an awful shame Percy’s best coach was just run over by the royal equipage. I don’t know if I could bear to go out and have a look. Heard it was smashed to bits, and his majesty’s- hardly a scratch!”

“Oh yes,” replied Andrew’s voice, “hardly a scratch. Poor Blakeney. He’ll have a deuce of a time trying to replace the thing too. It’s been in the family for years you know, his grandfather’s pride and joy.” Ffoulkes turned to me and noticed the stricken look of horror that had spread across my face as he spoke. “Ah, there you are, Percy! So sorry, old boy, I dare say you’ve heard about your coach.”

“Demmed messy affair, man. If I were you, I’d go challenge old Louis to a duel. The arrogance! Running that stuffy old thing into your masterpiece of a vehicle!”

“WHAT?” I yelped, panic seizing me.

I soon realized that my worry was all for naught as Tony and Ffoulkes could no longer hold their straight faces and collapsed into a fit of wild merriment. They laughed so hard they needed to hang onto each other to avoid ending up in a heap on the floor. I stood by and endured it, trying not to let the color in my cheeks rise too high. I looked at my companions contemptuously; they really were a pathetic sight. And then, a brilliant idea struck me. I grinned mischievously, and gave Tony a gentle nudge in the general direction of the solid marble floor. In his hysteria, the poor man could do little to save himself from the fall, and promptly dragged a stricken Andrew down with him.

“You boys have your fun,” I said placidly over my shoulder as I walked away, “I’m off to challenge Louis to that duel!”

Once I had reached the bottom step and become enveloped in the swarming crowd, I silently went over in my mind all that needed to be accomplished this evening.

First and foremost, I must find a girl who had just gotten engaged. Such were excellent models for my character; they could be counted upon to lend some insight. However, this was an unpleasant task, as it meant devoting much time to listening to this girl prattle on about this ‘prince charming’ of hers. I would save this task for later, when my stomach would be up to it.

Until then, I would find some young Frenchman who had been doting on me for some time past and get him to introduce me to all the visiting guests. Perhaps I would find someone with which to pass time in enjoyable conversation. Adolescent Frenchmen could be counted upon to do anything, provided you held onto their arm and laughed charmingly at all their jokes: funny or, as is usually the case, not.

I bid farewell to Armand and Suzanne when they reached me at the base of the staircase. My cue had come and it was time that I entered this large and character-filled stage.

I searched the crowd for a familiar face, and tried to avoid the glaring ones of Tony and Ffoulkes. My mystery lady, however, was nowhere to be found. I had walked past every dinning table, and scrutinized every line of dancers, but she was not among them. I tried to deny the sinking feeling in my stomach. Why should I care if the lady, Marguerite St. Just or whatever her silly name was, had chosen to hide herself from everyone? She was merely a beautiful woman, and I had seen plenty of those in my time, all of whom left me quite unaffected. The fact that finding her amidst three hundred guest was nearly impossible did not perturb me at all. Well, maybe just a little bit.

And then, out of sheer luck, those wonderful auburn curls once again caught the light, and there she was. I forced down a schoolboy grin and tried my best to stay composed and indifferent. She was dancing with a gentleman who appeared from my vantage point to be several years past his prime and very unattractive. He was talking to her incessantly, and poor Mlle. St. Just looked a trifle bored. I smirked. Better than dancing with Hurst.

I stood there without much notion of what to do next, or even what I wished to accomplish. Trying to catch her eye ended a futile pursuit, and I had to content myself with simply watching her. Marguerite St. Just was indeed very graceful when she moved, but it did not affect me in any way, shape, or form. She was exceedingly pleasant to look at, but that left me equally unruffled. Her smile was absolutely gorgeous, but that was of little consequence. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

And as I was in this state of mental conflict, I felt a familiar hand tug and my elbow and smelled the think fruity flagrance of red wine on someone’s hot breath as it floated past my noise. It had to be Hurst, and he had to be very drunk by now.

“Bllllakeneeeeeeeey, ollld chummm! Isssssss ‘at (hiccup) yoooooo? Ha! I can’t quite seeee (hiccup) straight!”

“Yes, Hurst, it’s me. Don’t you think you ought to sit down before you hurt yourself?” I was tired of this man interrupting my efforts to see Mlle. St. Just from across rooms. “Here let me help you to a chair somewhere...”

“No! I cannnn ffffffind my own way, thank (hiccup) you (hiccup)! I jussssst saaaaaw yoooo over here and thought to mmmmmyself, ‘Hurrrrrst, (hiccup) zat man issss (hiccup) afffter a (hiccup) wooooman, he isssss, and I intend to help himmmm (hiccup)!’ Weeeee mennnnn mussssst stick to- (hiccup) gether when it comes to (hiccup) the womennnnnn! Now, good chap, which is (hiccup) she?”

I rolled my eyes. “There’s no woman, Hurst, and you might as well leave me alone if all you’re going to do is make a drunken fool of yourself.” I peered over his shoulder, hoping desperately that Mlle. St Just would not look in my direction and think that I was in any way friends with this man. Hurst however, despite his tipsiness, perceived this action, and unfortunately figured out who I was staring at.

“Marguerrrrrite St. (hiccup) Jusssssst! Ha! I knnnnnew it! Ooooo, (hiccup) yooooooo’ll have yer work cut out fur (hiccup) yooo! Darn near unobtainable (hiccup) she (hiccup) isssss!”

“What do you mean?” I tried to ask nonchalantly.

“Actress. Besssst in all Paaaaaaris, they (hiccup) say. Keeps to a pretty high inte- intelle- intellec- (hiccup) intelectu- (hiccup)...”

“Intellectual?” I asked impatiently.

“Yes! Yes, that’sssss it. Annnnnyway, darrrrn (hiccup) clever that woooooman is, and not likelllllly to be swaaaaaaayed by mere fooooortune and (hiccup) titlessss, which she issss knnnnnown to openlllly (hiccup) despissssssse.”

“Well, Hurst, perhaps that’s true, but I think you, on the other hand, are in great danger of swaying and should sit down. Immediately. Need I call Mrs. Hurst?”

“NO! Noooooot (hiccup) Loooooouissssssa. I’vvvve allllready got in (hiccup) troublllle with her (hiccup) yessssssterday, and I don’t (hiccup) want it to happennnnnn again (hiccup) todayyyyyy (hiccup)!”

I rolled my eyes. “Alright, man, if that’s what you want. Look, there’s a chair just over there calling your name. You would oblige me by moving to that chair, and sitting on it.” I gave him a gentle nudge in the right direction as carefully as one should give a drunken man, and watched him until he had successfully wobbled to it. My eyes then turned once more to Mlle. St. Just and her dancing partner.

My plan had worked successfully, with but one tiny problem. All the visiting guests were such bores. Englishmen, it seemed, talked of nothing but cricket and politics. In that order of importance. Whilst titles and wealth could be found in abundance throughout the room, wittiness and brains could not. In spite of this, I smiled. It simply proves what I have known all along. Money and titles may be hereditary, but brains are not. They would greet me most graciously, smiling charmingly, and then proceed to forget about me when they learned I was of the theater.

I admit my role in society does have cause to turn people aside. Most actresses, in order to avoid destitution and poverty, are forced to become prostitutes. A job society, as can be expected, does not look kindly upon. However, I cannot but feel enraged when people judge me by this. The stage is my only lover, my only job, and I would thank people to remember that. This early judging enraged me, as it always did. The idea that a person could be judged by their actions ~ whether true or, more likely, the tales of gossipy old women ~ was utterly infuriating.

In my anger, I pulled my admiring Frenchman to the dancing floor. I had already forgotten his name, although he had most certainly not forgotten mine. Halfway through the dance, I seemed quite ready to forgive the Englishmen for their ignorance of me. It was far more enjoyable than the lavish attention I now found myself receiving from my dancing partner. He spent nearly the entire dance talking of his life, of his schooling, of his parentage, of heaven only knows what. I managed quickly to tune him out, nodding every now and again and feigning interest all the time I was dreaming of being anywhere else.

An Actress? She had indeed fooled me. With the way she carried herself, and the way the whole company seemed to be dazzled by her, I would have thought Marguerite St. Just to be some grand lady of high birth and vast connections. Though she seemed to possess the latter, it was apparent by her profession that she was indeed not the former. And yet she had every bit the air and mannerisms of a well breed aristocrat, and the attentions of so many intellectual gentlemen must mean that the fact she employed herself on the stage did not mean she was as vulgar and uninformed as most actresses. She was a puzzlement!

I smiled as a theory formed in my mind. Marguerite St. Just was simply a elegant lady born into the wrong class, and who had gained her place in the world by her own merits when society was unwilling to help her. A mere actress, no. A clever artist, yes. I admired her for her obvious spirit, the halo that followed her as she twirled about the room.

I failed to realize in my musings that I had been indeed staring at Mlle. St. Just for far longer than propriety allowed, and was much embarrassed when she turned her head and looked straight at me over her partner’s shoulder, a questioning expression painted over her lovely face.

I colored and looked away, then timidly turned back to her inquiring glance and did the only thing I knew to do. I gave her a small bow and then an even smaller smile. I must have looked a trifle sheepish, because Mlle. St. Just’s eyes immediately lit up with an amused but gentle twinkle, and she smiled back. I forgive you.

I started. Where had that come from? Was this woman now telepathic as well? I shook my head, more puzzled than before. Why was I feeling so absurd tonight? When I looked up again, she was gone. A little more disappointed than I was comfortable with being, I turned to search out Tony and Ffoulkes amongst the crowd.

My boredom had grown beyond an annoyance. It was well nigh a dull pain in my head by now. Hoping to hear something of interest, perhaps something I could comment on, I focused back upon my partner who had happily not noticed my mental absence.

“So now, I think you will agree, after all these years of success, I am quite ready to settle down.”

Dieu save us! How on earth did this come about? I had left him as he talked about his pet dog he had whilst still a child, and here he was on the verge of proposing matrimony? I quickly nodded my head faintly, turning it to visibly look away from him. I prayed softly he would understand my not-so-subtle hint. Marriage proposals were something I had received in abundance and had turned away just as hastily.

I heard him clear his throat, obviously searching for some new topic he could bring up. I never heard if he found one, for my diverted eyes found themselves suddenly upon a tall Englishman who seemed quite content to stare back at me.

It was not the stare itself that caught my attention. Men had been telling me for years that I was beautiful and, while I never believed them for a moment, I had learned not to be too surprised when I found a man staring at me. What caught my attention instead were the eyes that were doing the staring. I do not know how I knew they were blue ~ our eyes were separated by nearly an entire room ~ and yet I had the distinct impression they were blue. And such an expression was captured in them: gentle, sweet... I blushed inwardly when I realized the third word I was searching for was none other than loving. Who was this strange man who dared stare at the witty actress when she was dancing with another man?

Obviously a man who very suddenly came to realization with his faux-pas. Not but a moment after I had discovered this stranger, he blushed very sharply and turned away. I kept my eyes on him, unable to tear them away for some reason, and he quite sheepishly turned back to me. I kept my face softly serious, unsure of his next move. As though the room had suddenly gone silent, I watched this strange man bow gently to me, as though I was a lady or a duchess. A happy change from the others and their ignorance and “knowing” looks. My heart bubbled at this small display of respect and when he rose and smiled gently, I could not help but smile back. His penance for staring at me was quite charming and I accepted it graciously.

I forgive you, I thought with a small smile, nodding my head in a soft bow of my own. I do not know if he saw it, for my dancing partner seemed to realize that I was no longer listening to him and turned me around so as to get my full attention.

A measure quite unnecessary for the dance had just ended. I gave him a small curtsy, pretending not to notice his perturbed glare, and bade him forgive me for leaving him. Without waiting for a response, I turned back around to go seek out this man. However, the smile was instantly washed from my face for he had simply disappeared.

Well... it is of no consequence. After all, he was just another Englishman. There are plenty here. Probably just wanted to talk to me of the cricket game he played last week.

And yet, for some reason, I could not believe this. I knew somehow that he must be charming, he must be intelligent, he must be...

I quickly brushed these thoughts aside. He had disappeared and I may or may not see him again. It obviously didn’t matter to me... at all... so...

I spotted Suzanne across the room, and happily fled to her side. A talk with Suzanne was what I needed to shake loose the cobwebs I must have acquired in my mind from talking to that boring Frenchman. However, as I approached, I quickly saw that, while she was standing all alone, she had somewhere else she would far rather be.

Following her gaze, I quickly realized just where.

“How have you been enjoying the banquet, Suzanne?” I asked, sneaking up behind her. She started at my sudden appearance, a heavy blush coming to her cheeks.

“Oh, Marguerite. I did not see you there.”

I could not help but smile as I teased my dear friend.

“Obviously because your mind was elsewhere.”

I looked across the room at the Englishman she had been staring at and almost felt her turn a brighter red. I continued, turning to Suzanne with a raised eyebrow.

“I do not believe I have met him yet. Who is he?”

“I do not know. I have been standing here hoping that perchance something might arise which would introduce me to him, for indeed he looks like a very amiable gentleman. But I can foresee nothing that would put me in his way and I dare not presume to introduce myself! Oh Marguerite...”

I grabbed her arm, smiling at her as I crossed the floor.

“Why did you not call for me sooner, my darling?”

After about ten minutes of searching, I realized dejectedly that Tony and Ffoulkes were nowhere in sight. No doubt endeavoring to hide themselves from me after my avenging nudge. I smiled at the memory. They would certainly think twice before crossing me again!

My only problem now was the fact that revenge was not so sweet when there was no one to share it with. Not one of my acquaintance was amongst the crowd that I could see, and although several persons I knew were no doubt somewhere within it, that fact was of little help to me when none of them were within sight. I sighed impatiently and thought again of Mlle. St. Just. I’m sure she would have been delightful company at such a time as this- at any time, for that matter...

I shrugged off the troublesome feelings trying to creep over me and mentally berated myself. Silly fool, I chided, As if she would so much as give you a second glance. A beautiful, accomplished woman wish to waste her time with a dull, English bore like yourself? Have you been reading novels, Blakeney?

Fortunately for me, my self-degrading session was interrupted by the appearance of an old friend. Good Sir George Brandon came into view, who had been my father’s greatest friend while he was living and close to me as well. He had moved to Paris directly after the death of his beloved wife, shortly before my own mother passed away, and visited us frequently when my father had brought our family to France in order to cure my mother of her mental illness. I had not seen him in several years and was relieved to pick him out in the crowd.

“Sir George!” I called to him, making a pathetic attempt to appear obvious amongst the throng of humanity.

“Percy? Percy Blakeney, I say!” he called back when he had noticed me. With the ease of one accustomed to navigating through large crowds, Sir George expertly made his way to my side, as I was quite unable to move one way or the other.

“Well, well, if it doesn’t do my old eyes good to see your face again, dear boy, nothing shall!” he said jovially, patting me affectionately on the back. “And how are you?”

“Much the better for meeting up with you, sir!”

“Ha, you do a worthless old man too much credit, my boy, but I’m obliged to you all the same! This is quiet remarkable, I had no idea you were in France!”

“Nor I that you were in Versailles! What good fortune to meet you here, and after so long a separation!”

He smiled slowly, the wrinkles of age showing plainly around his eyes and mouth. “Indeed it has, my boy, indeed it has. Too long. What have you been occupying yourself with since last we met?”

“I’ve been abroad mostly, sir. Travel seems to agree with me.”

“Yes, it would. Your father, God rest his soul, was always very fond of it as well. I trust you’re not lonely at home without much family to speak of?”

“No indeed, sir. I have the loyalist of friends any man could boast of, and we get on well together.”

Sir George smiled, apparently amused at my remark, though I couldn’t see why. His next phrase cleared things up a bit “It wasn’t that sort of loneliness I spoke of, Percy.”

Catching his implication, much to my own frustration, I could not keep myself from coloring slightly and looking away sheepishly. “I am not often in the intimate company of ladies, sir, if that’s what you mean.”

He laughed. “That is of course what I meant, Percy, but you needn’t let it bother you. We old men tend to think more on the sentimental things of life than you young bucks. But I daresay one day you shall be the same.”

“Perhaps, sir. May I inquire how you have been these past ten years?”

“Can it be ten? I had not thought it could be half so long! You still look a boy of fifteen to me, sir!”

“You tease me, Sir George.”

“Indeed I do. But I shall be amiable now and answer your thoughtful inquiry. I have been very well, my dear fellow, as well as one lonely man who must live without his lovely wife can be. Now, you see, you can be in no doubt of my elderly sentimentality, can you, sir?”

“I have the highest respect for you in any case, Sir George.”

“Thank you, my boy, thank you.”

An idea had come to me. Sir George had lived in Paris for nearly eleven years, he knew it as well as anyone. Surely that would also mean he was well informed on Parisian celebrities and perhaps even was intimately acquainted a few of them. Would he then know something of the captivating Mlle. St. Just?

I squirmed, trying to think of a way to broach the subject casually without giving myself away. I had no wish to be teased mercilessly for the third time in the duration of one evening. But finally my curiosity won over and I couldn’t stop myself from asking:

“Sir George, are you a patron of the Parisian theater?”

My question was evidently an unexpected one. “The theater? Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Despite the general public’s opinion of it’s evils, I can see no harm in it, and find great pleasure in a good production now and then.”

“Do you? I confess I am of the same mind. The theater can afford the public with many a good thing. And what is your opinion as to the people who employ themselves in it?”

“Actors, you mean? They are a tolerable set, I suppose, if a bit melodramatic. Part of the job description, I imagine. I had a friend once in my Cambridge days who became an actor. Flighty fellow. Threw himself into the Thames one foggy January morning. Poor chap.”

I swallowed the large lump in my throat, trying not to image Mlle. St. Just standing on the railing of a bridge over the Seine and doing likewise. “Have you known many actors in your day, sir?”

He grinned. “Not many, Percy, but I must confess to the acquaintance of one in particular, who is both talented and charming. She has a reputation for brains, brass, and beauty.”

“When was that, sir?”

“Oh, the present. She is a leading player at that the Comedie Francaise, as a matter of fact.”

I nodded, encouraging him.

“She hasn’t been there long, six months perhaps, but has quickly earned quite a name for herself. Oh, perhaps you’ve heard of her. Marguerite St. Just.”

My efforts to keep from turning a deep shade of red were futile. I swallowed nervously. “Yes, sir, I have heard of her, but little beyond that.”

To my relief, my embarrassment seemed to go unnoticed by Sir George, who continued. “She’s a very admirable person, I think. I’m not all that well acquainted with her, but the few times we have met, her manner was very amiable and she had a great deal of animated, intelligent conversation. She keeps to very intellectual society, I hear, only the best minds in Paris frequent her salon. Mlle. St. Just does not strike me as a conceited woman, though, and I like her all the better for it.”

I smiled at him, happy to receive such a good report. Then of course I immediately felt very foolish as I realized there was no cause to pursue the information any further. She was just a silly woman after all, why should I care if she was agreeable or horrid?

“Good company is always a pleasure, I’m sure, sir.”

Sir George laughed. “Indeed it is. And now, my dear friend, I must leave you, for I am obliged to get home.”

“Home, sir? But it is barely nine o’clock in the evening! Surely you wish to stay longer?”

“Oh, I do, I assure you, especially after running into you, Percy. But I’m afraid it is not within my power to stay, as I am required to make a stop on the way home and my physician forbids me to be out past ten o’clock.”

“I see. Well, it was good to see you again, and I hope the pleasure will be soon repeated. Here,” I offered, reaching into my breast pocket, “take my card.”

“Thank you, Percy. I’ll make sure to write you.”

“I shall be in the East for several months, in fact I’m leaving tomorrow. But I’ll be home by March, I should imagine.”

“I’ll remember that. Goodnight, dear boy, take care of yourself.”

“And you as well, Sir George. Goodnight.”

“Monsieur?” I enquired, turning the gentleman around at the sound of my voice. He smiled curiously, wondering obviously after who we were and what we could possibly want. I blushed, feigning embarrassment. “Oh, forgive me, monsieur, I had thought you were my cousin’s fiancé!” He colored slightly, his healthy British sheepishness rising to the surface, and shook his head, smiling shyly. Perfect. I continued to play my part as the innocent offender. “Please forgive this rather embarrassing mistake, monsieur.”

He smiled amusedly, nodding his head softly and quiet recovered now. “With pleasure, mademoiselle.”

With that he turned to go, obviously wishing to avoid more discomfort to either one of us, but I was determined not to let him escape. I pulled Suzanne after me, following him. The poor darling squeezed my hand in an effort to stop me, but I relented.

“It just that you looked so familiar, monsieur, from the side, I mean.” He turned, confused as to what possible motive encouraged me to pursue him, but he smiled none the less. I continued. “You see, my cousin’s fiancé is English, as I assume you are, sir,” he nodded slightly, “and it seems to me that all the English look so much a like!” I laughed as charmingly as I could muster, hoping not to repel him. It was evident the poor man was very confused, and Suzanne, growing more and more embarrassed behind me.

“Perhaps you know him, monsieur? His name is...” I scrambled to find a British enough name. “Uh... Fitzwilliam Bingley? Yes, his name is Fitzwilliam Bingley.”

The Englishman shot me a wary look, as if he was unsure whether my cousin and her fiancé truly existed. I offered him a weak smile.

“No,” he said finally, deciding to be amiable, “I do not have the pleasure of an acquaintance with Mr. Bingley, but by his name, I judge that we are from different parts of our fair country. My name is Ffoulkes, you see, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, at your service, mademoiselle.”

I smiled sweetly back at him. Ah yes, victory, however small, was sweet.

“And I am Mademoiselle Marguerite St. Just,” I said, bobbing a curtsey. Fortunately, no spark of recognition came to his eyes, simply a soft bow and a bent head over my hand. Despite my pleasure of not yet hearing of a cricket game, I was quick to turn the young man’s attention to the girl standing to my left.

“And may I introduce Mademoiselle Suzanne de Tournay.”

The gentleman’s amused eyes turned quite serious as they moved from myself to my companion. Instantly, they had clouded over quite heavily with a look of pure adoration which, I am quite pleased to report, Suzanne returned with a shy smile. He bowed low this time, his voice soft and gentle.

“Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, at your most humble service.”

Suzanne turned a most vibrant shade of red, and I tried my hardest to keep from laughing. Sir Andrew, however, seemed too lost in my dear friend’s eyes to notice any blush creeping up her little neck.

“What brings you to our fair country, Sir Andrew? And at this time of year?” I asked, knowing that I would have to be the one to discover all the pertinent details for Suzanne.

“I’m touring the continent with friends,” he answered, unable to move his eyes from my pretty little friend. “We’ve been enjoying Paris and the rest of France for about a month now. I must confess, I find the whole of it very charming.”

I allowed them to remain in a blissful adoration of the other for a few moments, then felt it my sole duty to advance the relationship.

“Sir Andrew, I wonder if you would be kind enough to do me a great favor?”

He tried to give me his full attention while keeping his eyes on Suzanne. It was most amusing to watch and I had to give my best performance to keep soundly serious.

“My lady, I am at your service.”

“I had hoped you would say those words, for my dear Suzanne here,” Suzanne turned violently to me upon hearing a mention of her name, “has asked me to find for her a suitable dance partner. Do you, by chance, know of any young gentleman who might be of assistance in this matter?”

He smiled and opened his mouth to speak, however, his words were cut short by the sudden outcry of another’s.

“Ffoulkes, old chap, where the deuce have you been?” Echoed from behind us, spoken by some Englishman with which I had not yet had the “honor” of meeting. Sir Andrew smiled and waved over my shoulder at our approaching guest, and I turned most resolutely to meet him.

After quitting his friend Sir George, Blakeney had gone in search of Ffoulkes, who had become (and rather by chance) more or less acquainted with the object of his companion’s admiration. Of the latter Sir Percy knew absolutely nothing, for he had forced himself some time before hand to refrain from searching out the auburn curls amongst the crowd, as walking about on the tips of his toes made his already six foot three inch figure a ridiculous spectacle. It is rather ironic then, that in a search for his friend prompted by the desire to avoid those curls, he should discover no others but they upon finding Sir Andrew.

Had he realized their presence before he was halfway through his lazy British salutation to his fellow Englishman, Percy would have saved himself a great deal of personal discomfort. But as it was, as soon as the drawlly, “Ffoulkes, old chap, where the deuce have you been...” had escaped his lips, there was no checking it. Blakeney was however, somewhat more successful in holding back the curse upon himself that would have followed.

He would have gone on forever in this self-torturing state, staring wistfully at the back of this lovely woman’s head, had she not decided to put him out of his misery and turn around.

Everything else was forgotten.

Those gorgeous auburn curls had turned to reveal the face of a goddess. It was her.

The lady, on the other hand, was having quite different thoughts.

When the lazy drawl of yet another tediously self-satisfied Englishman fell upon Marguerite’s weary ears, she nearly had to force herself to swallow the shriek of exasperation which threatened to escape from her throat. She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her fists; this was not the right place to throw one of those famous fits which was supposed to spring form an exotic and artistic temperament, not if she wanted to keep her place in the company at the Comedie Francaise, anyway. Besides, Suzanne was getting along far too well with the only decent Englishman in the room to ruin it all by acting the spoiled brat.

“Oh well,” she thought to herself, “I shall just have to content myself with making an utter mockery of this one’s dull wits.” And with that, she turned to humiliate yet another insipid Englishman.

Strange how and when fate will step in to manipulate the actions of a perfectly unsuspecting person. Here was Marguerite, lips pursed, nose in the air, a mischievous gleam in her eye, arrogant and pert as ever a daughter of France could hope to be- but when she had at last turned and met the eyes of her intended victim, the last thing she had expected to happen happened. Her mind went strangely blank; whatever insult that had hovered there flew from her memory and disappeared, while she felt a sudden and inexplicable twinge somewhere deep inside. In an instant she had recognized the man who had stared at her from across the room as she danced with the awful bore who had matrimony on his mind. The charming and embarrassed boy who’s eyes had been so fixed upon her.

A set of very blue English eyes were starring straight into her clear blue French ones, and in that brief moment exchanging volumes no library could ever hope to contain.

Embarrassed and very confused, Marguerite looked away, ashamed of her foolish and inexplicable action. When she dared to look out the corner of her eye at him, her face colored a deep red as she realized he was still staring, as if transfixed and unaware of it.

Percy found himself quite speechless. He had in vain been trying to recall all the proper English rules he had learned about not starring at a lady or doing anything to cause her discomfort, but now they all seemed to be running from him in a wild effort to make him look a fool. When Mlle. St. Just’s eyes had met his the moment before, he had not missed the curiosity and confusion which rested there, though his heart flipped and his stomach turned. But beneath the bewilderment he saw written across her lovely face, he also saw a sort of contentment, as if she had been secretly waiting for this meeting.

Realizing how completely ridiculous his own thoughts sounded and how flushed and uncomfortable was Mlle. St. Just, Blakeney quickly remembered himself and offered a proper apology.

“Forgive me, mademoiselle,” he half mumbled, unsure of there being anything else to say that would not make him look an utter imbecile.

“No no, it was my fault I’m afraid, sir,” she stammered back, equally unsure of herself. Wishing to avoid any further embarrassment, Marguerite gave him a quick nod of the head and positioned herself next to Suzanne, who was in earnest conversation with Sir Andrew. No doubt a few deep breaths on the arm of her dear sweet friend would cure her of this sudden and unfortunate loss of self-control.

Ffoulkes had, of course, become fully aware of the presence of his friend by now and, though a bit unwillingly, turned his attention from Mlle. de Tournay to Blakeney. Rather intimidated by the impressive six foot three stature of Sir Percy, Suzanne breathed a quick “excuse me”, escaped from Marguerite’s arm, and left her friend, still slightly giddy, to the mercies of these two Englishmen.

Both a nervously exasperated Marguerite and a disappointed Sir Andrew watched with mixed feelings as the retreating figure of Suzanne de Tournay disappeared into the crowd. Percy only noticed how breathtaking those demmed curls were when their owner turned and made them catch the light.

Looking back to his friend, Ffoulkes gave a teasing smile. “Well, there goes company a great deal more agreeable than yours, my good man,” he said laughingly.

Blakeney rolled his eyes, glad that his friend was in a good humor capable of dispelling his own dazed one.

“I am sorry to have frightened away the little lady, but ‘ll faith! You couldn’t have expected her to remain content with the conversation of a dull chap like you for long anyway, Ffoulkes!”

Sir Andrew laughed and slapped his friend on the back. Now it was Marguerite’s turn to roll her eyes. These Englishman and their senseless humor. Quite recovered from her previous bewilderment, Marguerite cleared her throat.

“If you’ll pardon me, Sir Andrew, I’m afraid I must go and join Mlle. de Tournay...”

“Oh!” exclaimed Sir Andrew, becoming quite serious at the thought of losing his only link to the charming young French girl. “But I have yet to introduce you to my friend! Indeed, I am sure you both would be very sorry to miss the opportunity of making such an acquaintance.” Impatiently, Marguerite looked away, searching through the crowd in the direction to which Suzanne had fled. Ffoulkes quickly resorted to flattery. “To be sure, it is continually my opinion that people of charming conversation, intelligent minds, and gracious dispositions should always be acquainted with one another. I’m sure it is a great encouragement to the rest of us.” He smiled kindly at the actress, clearly pleading his case, and the vanity of a performer won over her better judgment, though she knew it was utter flattery.

Blakeney could have shoved and thanked his friend at the same time, so effected was he by Sir Andrew’s speech. Luckily he had more success this time in remaining the indifferent gentleman.

Ffoulkes smiled good-naturedly, obviously quite pleased with himself and reveling in his small victory. Why doesn’t he just get it over with? wondered Percy and Marguerite simultaneously. Sir Andrew took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“Mlle. Marguerite St. Just, may I present a dear friend and compatriot of mine, Sir Percy Blakeney.”

A brief silence followed. The two simply stared at each other, seemingly in silent agreement that this was all etiquette required of them. Their own thoughts raced across their separate minds.

“This woman is... demm it all! This woman is...arg.”

“Percy Blakeney, huh? Well, if I ever doubted the man was English down to the last bone in his body, I don’t now! His very name is the most British utterance I’ve ever heard.”

Finally, Sir Percy recollected his gentlemanly duty and bowed to Mlle. St. Just. “A pleasure, mademoiselle,” he said flatly, trying not to lend any insights into the nature of his thoughts. He was growing embarrassed again and the color began to rise in his cheeks.

Marguerite in her turn curtsied, though unable to hide the tiny smirk that hovered around the corners of her lips. She might enjoy taunting this one after all. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, Sir Percy. Sir Andrew has told Mlle. de Tournay and I of your excursion to Paris and the rest of France. I am sure that you could not find a lovelier place to spent the evening in all of Europe.”

Unable to keep his eyes from fixating on her, Percy replied simply, “No indeed, mademoiselle.”

The gavotte started up in the background and many a couple moved to the floor in order to begin the dance. Seeing her opportunity to excuse herself, Marguerite ignored the desire to stay to tease the Englishman and said, “If you’ll pardon me, gentlemen, I really must find my little friend. You two will naturally want to find a lovely pair of young English ladies to dance with, so I shall remove myself.”

“Oh no!” cried Sir Andrew, vexed that his scheme did not had a more lasting effect. “That will never do, Mlle. St Just, you must allow me to offer my services in finding your friend so that you yourself may dance. I am not so fond of the amusement, as I am sure you are, and it is much better that I should seek out Mlle. de Tournay and that you should proceed to enjoy yourself in the gavotte.”

Marguerite eyed him warily, unsure of his motives. Then, deciding that Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was too charming and agreeable a man to be persuaded by anything but a harmless and sincere admiration for her friend, she consented.

“Very well, Sir Andrew, if you insist upon it,” she said smiling sweetly at him. “But I should like to point out that there is no gentleman who has presented himself as a partner.” She peeked at Sir Percy through the corner of her eye, wondering how he would respond to this remark. He merely glanced away toward those gathering on the dancing floor.

“Partner? Why that is easy, Mlle St. Just!” Ffoulkes grinned mischievously. Both Percy and Marguerite began to feel a trifle nervous. “I should have thought it was obvious,” continued Sir Andrew, chuckling, “Blakeney will dance with you! Won’t you, old chap?”

Sir Percy turned a deep shade of red almost immediately and Marguerite did her best to keep from laughing aloud. She looked away and covered her mouth, hoping to look as if she had a slight cough or any other indisposition. She had known this man hardly a moment, and yet she was sure he must be the most entertaining Englishman she had ever clapped eyes on. Hmm, she thought, and perhaps the best looking as well...

Percy meanwhile, was trying to remove himself from a rather difficult situation. He knew that his nerves would go to pieces if he was obliged to touch this woman which so fascinated him with her every movement or word, and that he would be completely unable to atone for any misfortunes that might result because of this. His British pride and dignity was at stake.

“Andrew, I really don’t think that Mlle. St. Just would find any pleasure in dancing with a gentleman such as myself,” he said rather quietly into his friend’s closest ear. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the lady in question as she “coughed” into her hand again.

“Why ever not?” inquired Sir Andrew innocently.

“Ffoulkes, I don’t believe that in the middle of planning your grand scheme to capture Mlle. de Tournay’s heart that you remembered to inform her companion of my two left feet.”

It was now Andrew’s turn to blush and he did so very readily. Sir Percy smirked at his small triumph and Marguerite along with him. She was now watching the scene with open amusement. Sir Andrew could not take his eyes from the floor and Blakeney looked as if he was about to make another sly remark at the expense of his friend. Deciding to take pity on the poor man so enraptured with her friend, Marguerite sighed, straightened up to her full height and said, “Come along, Sir Percy, you shall do just as well as anyone, I suppose. We must leave Sir Andrew to his own devices.” Marguerite extended her hand to him, “No doubt you agree with me?”

Sir Percy sobered instantly and pondered her extended hand. After Sir Andrew had given him a helpful nudge in the ribs with his elbow, Percy quickly took her hand and ignoring the sparks which seemed to fly from it said calmly, “I can think of nothing more agreeable than agreeing with you. I mean... well...”

Marguerite laughed aloud this time. “I know what you mean, sir, you needn’t come up with anything clever to say.” She turned to Andrew saying, “Good luck in your search, Sir Andrew. My thanks for undertaking it.”

Ffoulkes bowed to her and said, “My pleasure, mademoiselle.”

“Keep a sharp eye out, Ffoulkes, especially where you step,” commanded Percy, joking in order to get his mind off the hand resting in his, “you wouldn’t want to trip over anything and land on the floor again, now would you?”

Ignoring Sir Andrew’s icy glare, Blakeney lead Marguerite quickly away from his companion and onto the floor. She struggled to keep up with Sir Percy’s long strides and obvious desire to get away before his friend could avenge his last remark. Marguerite smiled as she looked back over her shoulder at the exasperated Sir Andrew. She mouthed a “thank you” when he noticed her glance and then he waved to her in return. His figure soon disappeared into the enveloping crowd.

As Sir Percy stopped his furious pace to find a place where they could join the set, Marguerite looked up at him and smiled playfully, making a melodramatic effort to catch her breath. “If this is the way you walk, Sir Percy, how am I ever to keep up with your dancing?”

“Nay, mademoiselle,” he said smiling back and beginning to feel truly himself again, “it is I who shall have to keep up with you, for I am a much better walker than I am a dancer. In fact, you might even have to pick me up off the floor once or twice.”

Marguerite laughed again, relieved that this Englishman was not quiet so stupid as she had first believed and that he was recovering from his horrid embarrassment. Perhaps he would even prove himself a worthy candidate for matching her wits against. “If you fall, Sir Percy, you shall surely bring down the whole set with you- whoa!”

Blakeney had indeed found them a space in the lines, but it was fast disappearing and needed to be leaped at. He had whisked Marguerite into the dance mid sentence and left her quiet breathless.

“Two left feet or not, you are very aggressive at this sport, sir.”

“I’m afraid that must be part of my trouble with it.”

They did not say anything for a moment, trying to concentrate enough in order to complete all the correct steps. Then Marguerite broke the silence, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Tell me, Sir Percy, are you as enraptured with the game of cricket as the rest of all English gentlemen seem to be, or do you prefer another amusement over it?

Sir Percy gave her a sideways glance, uncertain if she was in earnest or merely trying to make a fool of him. He replied evenly, “As a matter of fact, I am exceedingly fond of cricket, but I was also under the impression that ladies did not enjoy discussing the game. Your opinion, I imagine, is that cricket does not provide sufficient excitement.” Sir Percy grinned. “I once heard a lady say, ‘cricket is as thrilling as a graveyard under snow’.”

Marguerite laughed, delighted she had found an Englishman willing to belittle his national sport. “Sir Percy, you have stated my opinion to the tee, and I shall have to remember your witty remark for future reference.”

“It is at your service, milady. But let us not speak of cricket now, for I fear my enthusiasm for the sport shall bore mademoiselle to tears.”

Marguerite rewarded him with a dazzling smile. I knew from the first I liked this man!

“Thank you for your kind consideration, Sir Percy. Indeed I am more than willing to speak of something other than cricket. For example, have you known Sir Andrew long, milord?”

Sir Percy smiled, his obvious affection for his friend spreading across his face. “We were at school together as boys and have been the best of friends ever since. He keeps an eye out for me, I suppose, a downright mother hen Andrew is. But he truly is the best of men. And yourself, mademoiselle,” he asked, a sly smile creeping to the corners of his mouth, “how long have you known Ffoulkes?”

Marguerite smiled somewhat guiltily, a faint blush which Sir Percy found most becoming spreading over her cheeks. “You have caught me, sir. I have known your friend for but five minutes, and I confess, our meeting was not quite by chance.”

“Oh no,” sighed Percy, teasing. “Don’t tell me you’ve been in love with poor Andrew from afar since the moment you laid eyes on him!”

“Not I,” defended Marguerite, “but you could say that about my friend Suzanne. I’m reluctant to admit that I arranged a small incident which threw them together.”

“Ah, I see. Well, now I suppose you are reaping the fruits of your labor.”

“Perhaps I am.” Marguerite waited a moment to reflect upon the meaning of his words and then asked, “Did you know you are dancing with an actress, Sir Percy?” She looked up at him with a challenging set of blue eyes, ready to face whatever rejection such a knowledge might stir up in her partner. But he did not waver, he did not even look at her, and instead found a convenient place to stare at on the wall.

Clearing his throat, he said with a sort of cool and rehearsed formalness, “Yes, I knew that. Well, that is, I had heard your name before and recognized it when Ffoulkes introduced us. I hear you are quite popular with the public.”

Marguerite searched his face uneasily, unsure of the meaning behind his remark and whether his opinion of herself and her profession was favorable or no. “Yes, Sir Percy, I am fortunate enough to have my share of enthusiastic admirers throughout the city, but what is your own view of the theater? Is it a commendable pursuit, think you, or is it less than admirable?”

She had obviously asked the question Sir Percy wished to avoid, for he was completely unable to look at her now and his coloring began to redden again at the base of his neck . Marguerite had always been rather proud of her ability to decipher people and their motives with quickness and accuracy upon first meeting them; it was a talent that had done her worlds of good in her career as an actress. But now she found herself strangely at a loss to comprehend Sir Percy or his oddities. She smiled in spite of herself. Perhaps it would be interesting to get to know him...

“My opinion of the theater, mademoiselle?” Blakeney asked, calling Marguerite back to reality just in time for her to avoid crashing into a rather fat and greasy man dancing in the set beside them. Sir Percy had evidently caught this slight misstep and was using his free hand to hide a smirk. Marguerite looked up at him defensively, then became aware of the good-natured merriment written all over his face and laughed with him. It was becoming very hard not to like this Englishman, even though he had made himself troublesome chore to comprehend.

“Yes, Sir Percy, do you approve of the theater or no?” Marguerite asked in a businesslike voice, as the dance called for she and her partner to duck under the extended arms of the fat man and the unfortunate lady dancing with him. She stifled the giggle that threatened to escape her lips.

Sir Percy was becoming far too amused to answer her directly. “Well, mademoiselle, I would hate to risk offending you in any way, so you go first. What is your opinion of the theater?”

“Mine? Oh no no no, you can not avoid me so. I promise not to be offended. You are entitled to your opinion as I am to mine.”

“I take it you are a Republican then, Mlle. St. Just?”

“Yes, an ardent one, but a discussion of my political views will not redeem you from answering my question.”

“Which was?”

Marguerite sighed in mock exasperation, fully aware of the game he was playing and perfectly willing to play along. “What is your opinion of the theater?”

A wicked smile spread over Blakeney’s face. “Oh, Mlle. St. Just! You took the words right out of my mouth. Pray, what is your opinion if the theater?”

Marguerite tried to keep a straight face but utterly failed. Laughingly she replied, “My dear sir, I believe it was I who asked you first!”

“Dear mademoiselle, I beg to differ. Ladies first, you know.”

“I know, but humor me anyway.”

Sir Percy paused for a moment, as if contemplating whether to be difficult or not, and then replied quaintly, “With pleasure.”

Marguerite waited, a smile nudging at the corners of her lips. “Well?”

Blakeney gave a frustrated sigh. “How am I supposed to think up a reasonable response properly while there’s a pretty woman smirking at me?”

“I have never had that trouble.”

“You are not a gentleman.”

“And if you keep carrying on in this vexing manner, Sir Percy, I will very much doubt that you are one yourself.”

“The loss of mademoiselle’s good opinion would be grievous indeed. Since I am under such a serious threat, I shall submit and try my best to be amiable.” He paused a moment and looked thoughtful. Grinning he asked, “Umm... you wouldn’t mind repeating the nature of your question, would you?”

Marguerite rolled her eyes. “You are lucky I am in such an agreeable mood tonight, sir, or I would have quite given up on you by now. Consider yourself excused from the inquiry, for now that is. I have no wish to play this game of words with you any longer.” Marguerite stuck her nose up in the air and played the conceited prima donna for a moment, until she realized that Sir Percy had taken her seriously. Then she let her face soften and smiled up at him. “There there, my English friend. Pray do not look so glum, for indeed, I did not mean a word of it.”

“Oh!” he said, relief quickly spreading over his face and a rather goofy grin replacing his confusion. Marguerite thought for a fleeting moment it was the most charming thing she had ever seen. “Of course you didn’t mean it. You must forgive me, Mlle. St. Just, I’m afraid I never was very good at communicating with your fair sex.” He smiled jokingly and said, “Your general perfections confuse my poor senses.”

“Oh, I see. But flattery will not get you anywhere.”

“Is it possible to flatter such a perfect creature?”

“Creature? You would not be dancing with a creature, Sir Percy, unless my first assumption upon meeting you is correct and you are quite mad,” Marguerite teased.

“Perhaps I am mad,” returned Blakeney, catching the joking tone in her voice this time.

“Hmm, if your sanity is so precarious, ‘twould be better for my reputation if I left...”

“No!” said Sir Percy, a little more intensely then he meant. Marguerite searched his face for the hundredth time and looked away confused. When she turned back to him he was smiling again.

“Then I’ll stay,” she said quietly, looking almost bashfully up into his merry blue eyes.

“Good. I’d like that.”

The dance separated them for a moment, giving the two time to think over what had just happened between them. Percy was feeling rather giddy and lightheaded. His good fortune was getting very hard to believe.

Marguerite bobbed a curtsey in dismissal to Sir Percy, then found herself taking up the arms of Sir Andrew himself as the dance played on. Smiling, she watched as Sir Andrew followed Sir Percy with his eyes for a moment, then turned back to her, a quizzical look on his face.

“I see you’ve found your way into the dance, milord,” she said smiling coyly, “but have you managed to find my little friend as well?”

“Oh!” He smiled shyly, the thought of sweet Suzanne clearly pleasing him. “Indeed I have, mademoiselle, and she was gracious enough to agree to dance with me. I was saddened when the dance called for me to quit her company, but now I find myself as agreeably engaged with you.”

Your chivalry doesn’t fool me, Sir Andrew. I know very well which of the two of us you’d rather dance with.

Marguerite smiled amiably at him. “You are too kind, sir.” Though you lie through those perfect British teeth of yours, she thought laughingly.

Sir Andrew was back to looking with a puzzled face in the direction of his friend.

Marguerite followed his glance and, seeing nothing unusual, asked, “Sir, may I inquire as to why your friend so bewilders you? Is there something puzzling in his manner?”

Sir Andrew gave her a baffled smile. “Milady, pray tell how it is you have put our own Sir Percy in such an... astonishing mood! I felt for certain he would be bitter and cantankerous by the evening’s end.”

Marguerite studied him, suspicious.

“Is he usually to be found in such a foul-temper?”

“Lud no, madam! Quite to the contrary. However...” Sir Andrew seemed a bit sheepish to continue. “I fear our friend Lord Tony and I have been teasing him quite mercilessly all evening.”

She smiled a soft reproach. “The poor man! He has my everlasting sympathies.”

Sir Andrew smiled and the dance continued on in relative peace for a few more moments, as Marguerite considered how best to proceed.

“Tell me, Sir Andrew, what does Sir Percy like?”

“Like? Sir Percy?” He smiled as Marguerite twirled beneath his arms. “One of the most agreeable men I do believe I have ever met, short of an unquenchable desire to drive Lord Tony and I nearly insane when traveling with him.”

“No, forgive me. My question was misleading. What I desired to ask was, what does he enjoy? Favorite pastimes?”

“Oh...” Sir Andrew paused in contemplation, deciding wisely against mentioning a fondness for cravat-tying. “Well, he quite enjoys cricket, mademoiselle!”

Marguerite laughed, almost a little bitterly.

“As do all men in England, I’ve gathered.”

Sir Andrew laughed as well.

“Indeed, mademoiselle, I find that to be quite true. However, Sir Percy seems to enjoy the sport far more than any Englishman I have ever been acquainted with.”

“Really? ‘Tis passing strange, for we spoke but briefly of the game just now. And, stranger still, I was the one to begin the conversation and he the one to end it.”

“I’truth? How very odd. Are you sure you were conversing with Sir Percy?”

“Yes,” Marguerite smirked. “However, we did arrive at the decision that he was mad. Perhaps that leaves him with some excuse.”

“Perhaps.”

The music signaled the exchange of partners, and the two bobbed a dismal to each other as new partners arrived.

Here I am, dancing with the most gorgeous woman in the room, who also turns out to be the most intelligent, charming, wittiest, and agreeable woman in the room, not to mention of my entire acquaintance, and I’ve actually succeeded in stringing together a few sensible sentences! She doesn’t despise me! And those eyes... I think I could gaze upon her lovely smile forever, how kind she is to offer it so frequently... Is it possible to declare oneself in love after an acquaintance of five minutes?

He watched as she laughingly made her way down the set and back again, twisting and turning where the dance led her. Out and over, through and around, her smile sparkled vividly and her eyes danced along with her feet. Everyone around her had caught Marguerite’s zest for the moment, for they were laughing along with her. Percy smiled; she had them all wrapped around her finger, including himself.

Then Marguerite glanced over toward him, slightly surprised when she realized he had already been looking at her. When their eyes met she smiled sweetly, almost shyly, and her cheeks, pink from dancing, flushed a tint brighter. Percy smiled back, relived to discover he wasn’t the only one who had something to blush about. His smile gradually turned into a grin as her smile grew wider, and by the time the dance had brought them together again, both (without taking their eyes off each other) had collapsed into a fit of laughter.

The dance soon ended and applause from the dancers followed, though one pair found it rather difficult to clap while recovering from their merriment. Percy offered Marguerite his arm and she accepted it. Then, all in smiles, they walked off the floor.

“You should not speak of your two left feet so contemptuously, Sir Percy,” said Marguerite a little breathlessly, “they really do suit you very well when it comes to dancing.”

“Perhaps, mademoiselle, but I think their performance this evening was mostly due to your influence.”

“Say what you will, sir, but I shall not believe it,” Marguerite returned coyly, giving Blakeney another one of her dazzling smiles. “Oh look! Here comes my friend, Mlle. de Tournay! Suzanne! Suzanne, dearest, what ever have you done with Sir Andrew? I met him in the dance just now and he assured me that he had found you. Where then has he gotten himself to?”

Young Mlle. de Tournay joined her friend somewhat reluctantly at the sight of her tall English companion, but nevertheless took Marguerite’s hands and spoke to her fervently.

“Oh Marguerite, I feel perfectly dreadful. Indeed Sir Andrew did find me, and most obligingly did he ask me to join the dance with him, which I did. But when the dance had ended, we became separated from each other in the crowd and now I can not find him at all! I’m sure he must think me the most ungrateful girl in the world, or even worse, that I should be hiding from him or...”

Marguerite laughed kind-heartedly, giving the hands of her young friend a motherly squeeze.

“There there, Suzanne, I am sure your reputation with Sir Andrew is exceedingly favorable at this moment, and quite the opposite of what you imagine. Calm your fears. I think I may even see him now. Here, stay and amuse Sir Percy while I find his prodigal friend. Will you stay with her, sir?”

“I would be honored.”

“Thank you. I promise to be right back with your knight in shining armor, dearest, don’t move a muscle.”

With a peck on her rosy blushing cheek for Suzanne and a nod of the head to Sir Percy (though he had rather wished for a peck too), Marguerite was gone in a flutter of skirts to retrieve Sir Andrew. Two sets of wistful eyes followed her: Suzanne was rather hoping her brave friend would come back and protect her from this gigantic figure of a man whom she didn’t know, while Percy found himself a bit put out at the loss of such charming company. They would just have to content themselves with the present.

Determined to make the poor Mlle. de Tournay less afraid of himself, Blakeney cleared his throat and made the little lady a low and chivalrous bow.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, mademoiselle,” he began in the most gentle voice he could muster. “I am a friend of Sir Andrew’s, Sir Percy Blakeney. We go back a very long ways. And you are...?”

“M...Mad- mademoiselle... Suzanne de Tournay,” she mumbled, hardly above a whisper, and continually staring at the floor, even after she had curtsied to him.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mlle. de Tournay.” Blakeney searched desperately in the brief silence that followed to think of a safe conversational topic. He chose the one that had been hanging on his mind for the past hour-and-a-half. “You are great friends with Mlle. St. Just, see.” The lucky girl...

Mlle. de Tournay’s face lighted up in spite of herself and she dared to take her eyes off the carpet. “Yes, Marg- Mlle. St. Just and I are very good friends- dear friends. We’ve know each other since girlhood.”

“She is a charming woman.”

“Oh yes indeed,” agreed Suzanne, actually becoming animated. “She has many admirers and an adoring public... for her acting, I mean. She is ever so talented, I think.”

“Yes, I would imagine it to be so. Yet she is so very open and artless in her manner. She does not seem touched by the stage at all.”

Mlle. de Tournay threw him a sideways glance for a moment, as if she was unsure what he had meant with his last statement. To clarify he said quickly, “She is a very unamusing and gracious woman. She does not carry herself as if she was used to the applause of an enraptured audience.”

“Yes, indeed, I see what you mean. She is very gentle. Especially to me, for I love her as I would a sister.”

Smiling, Percy tried to steer toward a more interesting discussion than the perfections of Mlle. St. Just, which he was already well versed in. “Tell me, Mlle. de Tournay, what think you of my friend Ffoulkes?”

“Sir Andrew?” asked Suzanne, coloring. “He is a very agreeable man.”

“Yes, agreeable indeed,” concurred Percy, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “What else do you think of him? How does my dear friend compare with the gentlemen of Paris?”

Mlle. de Tournay’s cheeks flushed a hot pink and she went back to staring at the ground. “Honestly, I...I wouldn’t know, sir. I...I...I esteem him, I ... like him...” “Esteem him? Like him? I see...”

“Y...y...yes. A very agreeable man...”

Is love a fancy or a feeling? Mused Percy, excessively diverted. Or a Ffoulkes?

“And a very fortunate man, to make the cheeks of a pretty woman color so.”

At this, Mlle. de Tourney succeeded in turning a brighter shade of red than Sir Percy had all evening.

“Forgive me, mademoiselle,” asked Percy, genuinely regretting that she had failed to realize he was only joking. “I fear I’ve made you uncomfortable in some way. My humblest apologies.”

“No, no I’m perfectly alright, truly. Just a bit warm, that’s all...”

“Here we are!” called Marguerite from behind her friend’s shoulder, a rather embarrassed looking Ffoulkes in tow. “I’ve found him, Suzanne. You may rest easy now, I’m sure, for he shall not escape again after the earnest scolding I gave him.”

“Ah, so that’s why he’s got his tail between his legs,” laughed Blakeney. Melodramatically he added, “Ffoulkes, dear soul, for a moment I despaired of ever seeing you again, oh noble heart! What ever should I have done then?”

“Left the ball and gone off somewhere more fun without me, you rogue.”

Percy laughed good humoredly and gave his friend a healthy slap on the back. “Well said!”

Marguerite cleared her throat impatiently, hardly eager to witness this masculine display of tough affection. It was then that she noticed her little friend did not look well.

“Suzanne, dearest, is there something wrong?” She placed her hand on the girl’s forehead. “You’re too hot. It would be best if you came outside with me. Will you?”

“Yes,” offered Suzanne feebly, “yes, I think some fresh air would do me good.”

“Excuse us, gentlemen,” apologized Marguerite, “but you see Mlle. de Tournay is flushed and should be taken outside a moment.”

Sir Andrew’s boyish grin faded into concern. “Is she unwell?”

“Nothing a breath of fresh air will not cure, I assure you,” murmured Mlle. de Tournay with a weak smile for her admirer. “Fear not for me.”

“We’ll return in a moment.”

Blakeney and Ffoulkes looked on somewhat forlornly as the two ladies quitted the room, taking their perfections with them. Together they breathed a sigh of disappointment and then turned to face the other, both pouting as if to compete over whose was the most pathetic. Sir Andrew won.

“You’ve frightened her away, Blakeney! For all we know as soon as they’re outside they’ll call a carriage and go home.”

“Oh, and poor little Andrew will have to find another set of pretty blonde ringlets to pull, is that it?” challenged Blakeney, as unhappy with the ladies’ departure as his companion. “I’ll have you remember, my good man, she took the other one with her. What was I to gain from frightening the little creature out the door?”

“I think...” Sir Andrew stood staring at his friend a moment, pondering a come back. He had also forgotten to shut his mouth, which remained wide open. Percy, of course, found this rather amusing and began to laugh at his thoughtful friend, who soon realized how silly he must be looking and laughed too.

“I think we should stop trying to argue with each other,” Sir Percy finished for him, “because it’s obvious that after nearly fifteen years of companionship we still can’t do it.”

“Agreed. Your hand, sir?”

“Done.” Grinning, the two clasped hands.

“What do you say we go find out where those two lovely young ladies took themselves?” inquired Blakeney, looking mischievously toward the doors to the outside.

“Blakeney, I think the point was for them to leave and for us to stay...”

“Oh nonsense. Besides, Mlle. de Tournay isn’t your nanny, is she?”

Ffoulkes colored. “No, but...”

“Then let’s go.”

Even if Sir Andrew had wished to stay put, he would not have been able to. Blakeney grabbed his wrist and pulled him along behind, leaving in their wake a number of agitated people trying to keep a firm grip on their champagne glasses.

Now, my little darling, what ever has become the matter with you?” Marguerite asked, seating herself gently beside her companion. Suzanne sat in silence for a moment, nearly pouting in defiance of the great shame which had come upon her. Marguerite smiled, and rose again to her feet.

“Well, if you shan’t talk to me, I shall simply have to talk to myself. And, I must warn you, I grow tired of my own conversation quite quickly. ‘Tis not very improving.”

Seeing that Suzanne was still quiet, she turned her attentions to the gardens.

“Sir Andrew is indeed a most charming character. I found him quite amiable. And his friend...” she paused, aware of a small blush rising to her own delicate cheeks. “He is also quite charming.”

“He was charming until he taunted me!”

Suzanne’s shrill voice startled Marguerite, and she turned back with a smile for her girlish friend. Walking back to her side, she sat beside her and took her hands in her own.

“My dear, it was all in jest. You must learn not to wear your emotions on your sleeve!”

The reprisal, gentle as it was, was too much for Suzanne, who promptly began to cry upon her dear friend’s shoulder.

Andrew stared out the window at Mlle. de Tournay. He and Blakeney had reached the door through which the ladies had made their exit, and upon examining the adjacent windows, they were able to discover the location of their query. Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, both young gentlemen stood by the window with what they hoped appeared nonchalance and peered out. Keeping in mind, of course, that one can see both ways through a window, Blakeney and Ffoulkes positioned themselves as not to be seen by the ladies outside, which turned out to be somewhat difficult as there was two of them and only one window. They resolved on taking turns.

Ffoulkes was fully aware that he was falling for this lovely young French girl, but what he wasn’t quite sure of was whether it was a good thing or not. They were headed for the East tomorrow (he knew nothing would persuade Blakeney otherwise) and doubtless he would never see Suzanne de Tournay again. It was all very depressing when one came to think of it.

“Percy?”

“Hmm?” Blakeney looked up from examining the imaginary piece of lint on his sleeve.

“Must we leave tomorrow?”

Percy smiled thoughtfully, forgetting the lint. “Don’t tempt me, Andrew.”

A few minutes later, a somewhat dry-eyed and far more sedate Suzanne de Tournay rose from the small garden bench and stood before her friend for inspection. Wiping the remainder of her tears from her sweet brown eyes, she spoke, her voice wobbly, but under control.

“I do believe I am ready to return, Margot.”

Marguerite rose from her seat and placed an arm encouragingly around her friend’s shoulders to lead her once more into the soiree.

Smiling as they walked, Marguerite commented softly, “I do believe this turn about the garden has done you good. Your cheeks are a most adorable shade of pink and you look far less likely to topple into Sir Andrew’s arms in a fainting spell.”

Suzanne blushed faintly, smiling back. “Papa would not be pleased to hear I had made such a spectacle of myself.”

Marguerite laughed. “Can you imagine him hearing the news? My daughter swooned like a common English woman?!?”

They both giggled at the thought. Marguerite smiled and leaned in closer to her friend.

“I have kept you far too long. I fear Sir Andrew is scouring the countryside for you in a panic by now.”

Suzanne’s giggles subsided.

“Indeed, no. I feel for certain he has surely forgotten me already.”

At that very moment (Suzanne and Marguerite having reached the door), the latter set aside the desire to reprimand her friend in order to open it, only to find it ungraciously pulled from her hands by the very gentleman they had been talking about a moment before, together with his companion.

Both parties stood in silence for a moment, until Sir Percy turned to Sir Andrew with a smile.

“I do believe I’ve found them, Ffoulkes!”

Sir Andrew rolled his eyes and smiled. “Your aid in this quest has been altogether immeasurable, Sir Percy.”

“I live to serve,” Sir Percy added, but his words fell upon deaf ears, for Sir Andrew had already strode forward and taken Suzanne’s hand in his own.

“I trust the night air has aided your well-being?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I thank you for your concern.”

“I’truth, there has been some concern,” he said gently, his eyes displaying an affectionate warmth that caused Suzanne to smile a little, and Marguerite to smile a little more. Aware of the intensity of his words, Sir Andrew leaned back to address the entire group, and though propriety obliged him to release her hand, his eyes never left Suzanne’s nor lacked the sweetness they had held before. “When neither of you had returned shortly upon your having left, as was duly promised, we feared you had grown tired of our company and abandoned us to our own entertainment!”

The steadfast gaze of Sir Andrew had thrown Suzanne into another blush which he was quick to notice, and with some satisfaction.

“Mademoiselle de Tournay, would, by chance, a glass of punch restore your health to right?”

She smiled softly and nodded even softer.

“You foresee my needs before I know of them myself.”

He offered her his arm, and after she had taken it the two began to wander their way inside. Almost as an afterthought, Sir Andrew turned back to the two still outside.

“Shan’t you join us?”

Marguerite smiled.

What? And destroy this perfectly wonderful moment for the two of you? Not for the world.

“I shall decline. I feel a walk beneath this beautiful evening sky would aid my health immeasurably more than a simple glass of punch.”

“Blakeney, then?”

Percy smiled.

As if you really desired my company at this moment...

“No, indeed. I feel my health should be greatly improved simply by walking with Mlle. St. Just.”

Marguerite laughed and rolled her eyes at his jest, ignoring the fact that his words secretly pleased her. Blakeney turned to her, a silly grin lighting up his face. “If she will allow, of course...”

“I should be honored, Sir Percy,” she said playfully, smiling up at him- though not without a twinge of inexplicable nervousness constricting her heart. She made her best efforts to squelch it, but succeeded only in disguising it to herself as the crisp night air or perhaps the upcoming play. Surely it could not be the result of finding herself about to be alone with this Englishman!

“Then it appears solely you and I, Mlle. de Tournay, have the sense to leave the October night air for a warmer clime,” Sir Andrew said to Suzanne. Then to the two still standing in the garden he instructed, “Make sure to come in before you both have frozen to death. We’ll be waiting with the hot punch!” Turning to the charming lady by his side he asked, “Shall we?”

Suzanne nodded, a sweet smile for her chivalrous admirer on her pretty lips, and allowed him to lead her inside.

Sir Percy, who had been previously unaware that his decision to stay out of Ffoulkes way meant he would be alone with Mlle. St. Just in the garden, realized now that they were indeed in the sole company of one another, and became very nervous. He, unlike Marguerite, knew entirely from where his nerves came and to what they were directed. His heart was twisted in several thousand knots, each one beating rapidly at the mere sight of her. Perhaps he could attempt to play it off as but a passing fancy or the prickling wind causing such sensations, but he knew that the true core of his sudden case of nerves lay in the woman standing next to him. For this, he spoke not, in fear he would somehow shatter the moment. Instead he simply began to walk, and in a contented silence she fell into step beside him. When she spoke, not but a few moments later, her voice sent a shiver down his spine.

“I fear, Sir Percy, that on such a lovely evening as this and in such a magnificent garden as the one we stand in, you shall find me very dull company.”

“I have never found you to be dull company, Mlle. St. Just,” he said quickly.

“Never? Not once in the whole of the fifteen minutes we have known each other?” she said teasingly, smiling at the man beside her as they promenaded through the splendid gardens of Versailles.

“Never once,” he said, quite in earnest, smiling back.

The truthfulness in his words, as well as the passion in the eyes, caused her to pause before speaking, as though carefully weighing her next words.

Has she tired of me already? Or, have I alarmed her perhaps?

“I must confess...” she said slowly, her eyes concentrating on the path ahead. “This is quite awkward for me.”

“How so?” he asked quickly, eager to know how he might change in order to keep her by his side.

“I have known you for perhaps fifteen minutes at most, and already we find ourselves alone together, promenading through a garden after dark in the moonlight.” She tried to dispel the seriousness in her voice with a small, rather nervous, laugh. “You must confess, it hardly helps my already scandalous reputation as an actress.”

Sir Percy’s head dropped.

She doesn’t trust you, Blakeney. That’s the problem.

“We can always go in...” he said, meekly hanging his head.

Marguerite studied him a moment, in utter confusion as to what this man was thinking. Or, for that matter, what she herself was feeling. Without barely a moment’s contemplation, she heard herself saying something she never believed would come from her own lips.

“No, there is no need for such a course of action. I can hardly think of a more agreeable way to be ruined.”

She found, much to her great delight, that the gentleman was blushing. A smile in her voice, she nudged him softly.

“My dear sir, I do believe you are blushing.”

The fact that he turned his head away slightly spoke the truth, and Marguerite laughed.

“I’truth, sir, I do believe you are.”

She is taunting me! No civilized person could not see I am very ill at ease, and she presumes to taunt me!

Why on earth do I find this blush so adorable? I have seen many blushes on my account, and yet...

“No, my good lady, I am not blushing. I just find myself a mite warm, ‘tis all.”

“Sir Percy,” she said in the most serious voice she could muster. He turned to her slowly, willing himself not to look a fool. “It ‘tis October. In Paris, no less, Sir Percy. I have not the slightest idea how you could be warm out of doors.”

He turned away. Her charming face, in that brief space of seconds, had so captivated him, he feared he would reach out and hold it in fear of its disappearing from his side. The blush they had been speaking of now deepened as he strode forward, continuing their walk.

“Must we speak of trivial matters? I so despise them.”

But Marguerite was not finished with her teasing. Her favorite form of defense against unease was up and ready, and she could not hold herself back from the temptation.

“But I thought all Englishmen adored trivial matters. It is, after all, the only way they could so enjoy cricket.”

He paused in anger, furious that the lady was taunting him so.

Is it not enough I should be tormented by Ffoulkes and Tony? Must I endure it also from...

He turned to face his antagonist in anger, but found himself only once more captivated by her beauty, as well as the childlike glee that now so enraptured her features.

‘Tis all in good humor, Blakeney. Can you not take a joke? Poor Mlle. de Tournay. I feel a new sympathy for that bashful girl. Well, if mademoiselle wishes to jest...

An evil thought had come to his head and, clutching his heart with his hand, he slumped upon the bench conveniently situated nearby and began to make painful noises of agony.

Marguerite watched this in wonderment; had she truly injured the man? She threw herself to his feet and clutched his hands in her own.

“Are you ill, sir? Shall I send for a doctor?”

He opened one eye and peered at her, then opened the other and smiled faintly.

“Milady, you have wounded me with a shaft direct to the heart...” She looked upon him quizzically, so he continued. “Upon insulting... my dear... cricket...” He burst into a short round of false sobs, to which Marguerite rolled her eyes and returned to her feet, brushing off her skirt and trying hard to keep from laughing.

“Well, at least now I can boast a knowledge of your sore spot for insults.”

“To the contrary, no, madam,” he said, smiling and rising to his feet as well. “You have only learned that I never allow just anyone to call that masterly sport “trivial”.”

“Am I just anyone, Sir Percy?”

“Indeed, no,” he added quickly. “And for that very reason I shall make compromise and graciously forget all you have said in grievance to the sport.”

“I hardly know whether to take that as compliment or insult, seeing that you are so easily forgetting my opinion.”

“Oh, by all means, take it as a compliment. For, I must confess, I do not believe I could so lightly bring insult to you.”

“I can believe that,” she said, laughingly. “I do not believe you have paid me one insult since our acquaintance was made.”

“Do you wish me to insult you?”

Marguerite smiled coyly. “It should keep me on my toes, Sir Percy. I fear if you continue in your present route to compliment my every work, my wit shall depart from me and you should soon run out of things to say.”

Percy laughed. “Your wit, I believe, shall never leave you. The two of you are far too happily attached. And as for me running out of things to compliment you on, I fear that would never happen either, for you invent new wonders simply by... living!”

His ardent speech had been spoken in the thrill of the moment and, its being over, caused them both a moment of blissful reserve.

I do not believe I have ever heard a more complimentary speech given towards my self. How utterly charming of him to say so..

. Blakeney, you fool! Patch it up this instant.

“But... if you so desire me to insult you, I shall do my utmost.”

She smiled graciously and paused her walk to allow him better luck in his search. He paused as well, trimming his face with a serious, thoughtful expression and pacing back and forth around her for a moment in contemplation. Several times he paused, his face lit up, as though he had struck upon something. But each time, his face again grew dark when the thought had proved false. Finally, he stopped his pacing and stood before her in sorrow.

“I am terribly sorry to have failed you, but I fear I cannot think of a single thing.”

They both laughed earnestly, reveling in the agreeable company they found themselves in.

“Lllhrroooorrdd Deeeewwwwwhhurstttt, (hic) commmmmee overrrrrr hereeeee annn’ saaay hellllloooo too yourrrr olll’ chummm...”

Lord Tony rolled his eyes in impatience, annoyed at the idea of having to pause and talk with Mr. Hurst, who obviously was in no state to be within twenty miles of company. Nodding a hello, he continued on his way, perhaps a tad quicker this time.

The session of insulting over, Percy and Marguerite continued on their walk, the roses gaining an effervescent light from the moonbeams falling upon them. The night seemed almost magical, as though fairies would perchance appear at any corner. Perhaps this magical quality could account for some of the excitement bubbling through the young couple’s blood.

Percy felt as though he could jump from his skin if asked. His body was held rigid, straight and tall in the power of the silence that surrounded them. Even the sound of her feet sweeping the ground filled him with a thrill.

Marguerite as well felt this shiver of unknown excitement. However, instead of stimulating her, it almost frightened her. She could not perceive what was happening to her and the idea of disguising it as mere worry over a play had long since vanished. They walked on in silence and Marguerite found herself playing with her rings as a way of relieving some tension. The small bands were twisted around and around her fingers until -Pop- one fell off and rolled along the ground.

“Oh, blast!” she cried in frustration, dropping to the ground in search for the exasperating piece of jewelry. Percy stooped as well, searching through the roses and the nearby benches.

“You will have to forgive my nervousness, sir,” she said, running her fingers along the ground in an attempt to avoid his gaze. “I... a play I am in is opening soon, and I fear I am not quite correct for the role I play. That is... is alone... the reason I am so anxious this evening.”

“Ah,” he said, unsure of whether to feel relieved or saddened by this news. “I see... I’m sure you will be lovely, though,” he offered unsteadily.

She looked up from her searching for a moment and, unwittingly, caught his eye. She smiled softly. “It is nice of you to say that.”

“My pleasure,” he said gently, smiling foolishly back at her.

They both turned away nearly instantly, grasping for breath to ease their frantic hearts.

“Mon Dieu!” she screamed in rage, frustrated by both her inability to find the ring, as well as her inability to find her heart, both of which seemed to have disappeared among the moonlight.

“Wait! I do believe... yes! I have found it!” Percy exclaimed, holding something in his fingers up to the moonlight, as he peered at it from his position on his knees. Marguerite leapt to her feet and hastened to his side, thankful the object had been found.

As she walked up, she observed him wiping the dust and dirt from the ring with the lace from his shirt. She was startled by this display of chivalry at the expense of fashion, knowing full well that any true-blooded Englishman loyal to his breed would rather die than have his clothes dirtied at a fashionable banquet. She could not help a small bit of mist rise to her eyes at this sight, one she knew she would never see again. Oh Marguerite, she thought to herself, how silly the moonlight has made you.

Sir Percy had cleaned the ring to his obvious satisfaction, and turned his attentions now back to the owner. His breath was taken away. She stood before him, gleaming in the moonlight, her auburn curls soaking in the rays and vivifying them tenfold. Her utter beauty shone before him, nearly frightening him. And her whole countenance was sweetened by a look of... no, couldn’t be. He shook the thought from his head.

Too much of that demmed poetry stuff, Blakeney. She’s not looking at you with love; she’s thankful you found her blasted ring!

Marguerite noticed him shake his head ever so slightly, and felt a sudden pain in her heart.

Perhaps he does not feel for you as you feel for him, a small voice said. She shunned it quickly, laughing at the very notion. What I feel for him, indeed!

But the thought had caused her nerves much anxiety and, as Sir Percy took her hand to return the ring to the owner, she turned quickly to the sky.

“Do you not think it ‘tis a beautiful night, Sir Percy?” she asked quickly, letting out a deep breath as she did so. He did not return the comment for a moment, so she turned back in worry.

Blakeney, if not already stupefied by her beauty and wit, was nearly ready to faint from the sudden sound of her voice as well as the feel of her hand upon his. He closed his eyes a moment in blissful adoration; the soft touch was nearly more than he could hold. He considered her question a moment so as not to appear too foolish, then forced his mind to concoct an answer. This difficult task accomplished, (All tasks, even ones as simple as breathing, now seemed quite impossible to concentrate upon with her so close) he took her ring that had, ‘til just now, hovered above the tip of the ring finger on her left hand and, with his eyes still closed to help him remain conscious, he slid the golden band back onto her finger.

“I do,” he said softly.

“Percy! Where the deuce are you?” came from the direction of the house, causing Marguerite and Percy to both simultaneously jump back from the other. As the owner of the voice, Lord Tony himself, came into view, Percy cleared his throat and straightened to his full height.

“Percy, I daresay I have been searching high and low for you!” After slapping his friend on the back, he noticed suddenly the elegant lady by his side and made a sweeping bow to her. “Mademoiselle. Lord Anthony Dewhurst, at your service. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid I really should be stealing this rogue back from you. You can, of course, thank me later.”

Marguerite tried to say something, anything, but found herself far to tongue-tied to utter even a single syllable. Tony turned back to Percy, yawning.

“Rumor has it the party shall be continuing on for hours yet to come,” Tony rolled his eyes as he spoke, “But we really should be leaving; a goodnight’s rest is what all three of us need for tomorrow. Now, I have Ffoulkes all but out the door...”

“What,” Marguerite interrupted, blushing slightly as she poked her way back into the conversation, “Pray tell, is happening tomorrow?”

“Didn’t he tell you, milady? Just like Sir Percy. We, my dear lady...”

Percy interposed quickly.

“I shall be up in a moment, Tony.”

But Marguerite was not to be so easily set aside.

“Lord Dewhurst, what does tomorrow hold?”

“Why, my good lady; Sir Percy, Sir Andrew, and I shall be sailing to the far east tomorrow in search of amusements greater than this city could contain, eh what?”

“Yes, Tony. Now, go fetch Andrew. I’m sure he will have wandered off and shall be well nigh impossible to find. I shall be up in a moment.”

Lord Tony, happy at the prospect of leaving what had turned out to be a rather dull affair for him, quickly did as his friend requested and left the two once more alone. Sir Percy watched him with his eyes until he was gone, hoping to avoid any further incidents.

Demm it all, I shall give that boy the whipping of his life for this!

Why on earth should you care, Marguerite? He is naught but another man come and gone. Ce n’est rien. So, why should this information hurt you so? “Mademoiselle...” Percy began, evenly tempering his words in hopes of a softer outcome. But he was to be interrupted.

“I see you have forgotten to mention another ‘trivial’ matter, Sir Percy,” she said, her words bitter and resentful in spite of herself. Percy cringed at every syllable.

“I told you I never cared for them,” he said softly, hoping to inflict a little laughter into the conversation. Neither laughed. Marguerite turned from him and directed her attention to a rose nearby. The moonlight upon the rose did not seem so magical now.

“Then what do you care for?”

He turned away as well, clutching the bench Marguerite and Suzanne had earlier sat upon for support. Marguerite turned back to him, her brows knitting in pain and her eyes questioning as she approached him steadily.

“What is it that so captivates you so far away in the east?”

When he did not return her gaze, she bit her lip and downcast her eyes in sadness.

“Obviously something of greater import and interest than can be found here.”

She began to walk away, but Percy, in a move uncharacteristic in its suddenness and impulsiveness, grabbed her hand. She turned back to him in wonder and he took a moment, bent over with his eyes closed and his lungs gasping for breath, to put the emotions of his heart into words to speak. When he finally found them, he raised his eyes to her ~ his pure, sweet angel ~ and spoke softly.

“You must believe me, madam, when I speak with my most sincere words, that there is nothing on earth that I would rather be doing than standing here in this garden with you.”

The words spoken, he bent low and kissed her hand, ardently and fiercely. When he rose once more to his full stature, he turned quickly and walked, step by step, from the garden, tears filling his eyes and a sharp pain filling his heart.

Perchance we shall meet again... someday...