Christmas Soiree

Background:

A liveried footman knocked discreetly at the door, opened it and called in, "Monsieur Lafayette has arrived, sir."

"Excellent, send him in at once!"

The marquis de Saint-Cyr's self-important footman had anticipated this, and pushed the door open immediately. Lafayette entered, striding quickly to the desk behind which sat his friend.

"Jacques, mon brave, how wonderful to see you!"

Saint-Cyr got to his feet and held out his arms. "Gilbert, I hoped you were still in Paris."

"I don't dare leave, Jacques, not with the Assembly boiling out of control."

"As bad as that?"

"Bailly is having an ever more difficult time keeping the rebels in check. When we began this revolution, we anticipated enthusiasm, not anarchy. I will never forgive..."

"Shh! We never know which doors have ears, Gilbert."

Lafayette looked suitably chastened, then brightening, said, "But not everything is bad news. Adrienne has told me about Angel�s impending marriage. Congratulations!" Saint-Cyr basked in the praise.

"It's true, my dear marquis..."

Lafayette lifted his hand, stopping Jacques's words . . . "There is no longer a nobility in France ! I am no longer de la Fayette. It is one simple name these days."

"While it is true that titles have been dispensed with, I still cling to the hope that Angel�s marriage to a duke will bring some benefit - the Lord knows I've paid enough to bring it about."

"What I have come to say, Jacques, is that Adrienne is as much a democrat as I and has come up with a most novel idea for our Christmas soiree. She intends to invite everyone - my republican supporters . . . yes, I do mean the members of the Assembly, friends, former aristocrats ( Lafayette watched Saint-Cyr frown at that word "former")..."

"That reminds me, Gilbert; Cecile has extended an invitation to your party to a family friend, an English baronet..."

"Wonderful! I so enjoy tweaking the noses of the English. Did this baronet fight in the American war? Do I know him?"

"Certainly not, he was a boy at school during the war, Gilbert."

<Percy>

While all this was taking place, Sir Percy was returning from a lonely walk through the Louvre to his house on rue Madeleine. A week had passed since his proposal to Marguerite and her reject . . . no; Percy refused to consider Marguerite's puzzling questions: 'are you sure this is what you want?' and 'have you considered your reputation?� as a rejection of his proposal. She had not rejected him out of hand. She loved him - surely she did! Only a woman who cared, would ask him if he'd considered what would become of his reputation if he married an actress.

On day #1, he had sent her a letter around the thought: 'While I admire your care for my reputation, dearest, consider what your hesitation is doing to my heart.' The note had been folded and folded into a small square, sealed, and then tucked into a bouquet of breathtaking white roses. Obscenely expensive to purchase roses at Christmas time . . . he hoped Marguerite liked white. He received no word from her.

Day #2 Percy had awakened before five, listening to the muffled thud of hooves on snow, then he'd burrowed deeper beneath his blanket feeling more miserable than can be described. He hoped darling Margot's dear little toes were blue with cold and that she missed warming them on his broad, hairy thighs. Still no word from his beloved.

On the 3rd day, Percy had dressed in dramatic black breeches and a crimson coat edged in gold and paid for the box directly facing the stage where he sat alone, gazing into Marguerite's eyes as she performed. She pointedly ignored glancing in his direction . . . he felt her avoiding him. He sensed the tremor in her voice as she began to sing the plaintive refrain in the final act and his heart swelled. She *did* love him. She was in agony without him. It took all his resolve to leave the comedie as soon as the curtain rang down - leaving her only a note saying "I will love you forever". Surely that would gain him a reply!

No reply awaited him on day #4. Damnation, was the woman's heart made of stone? After this, Percy went into a decline. He stopped eating. He paced the house and shouted at his footmen and maids until he'd reduced one young chit to tears. After that he dressed in green silk and roved from house to house, visiting people he scarcely knew, people he hadn't seen in years, people who meant nothing to him - all in an effort to stop thinking of Marguerite.

Today was day #7. He was losing weight. Losing sleep. Losing his reason. What was left to do? There was nothing else to try . . . and he wasn't going back down on his knees to beg. Thus far, all the women in his life had received only one proposal of marriage. Percy Blakeney knew how to take no for an answer! He didn't need Mademoiselle Saint-Just - didn't need her in the slightest. Two doors away from his own on rue Madeleine, Percy met a woman on the street - a stranger - and abruptly grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her hard on the mouth. The woman slapped him viciously. The sting of the blow woke Percy as if he'd been asleep for days. When Henshaw threw open the door to his house he cried , "Welcome home, Sir Percy . . ." and he was waving a sealed letter. Percy grabbed the note from Henshaw, oblivious to the odd look the footman gave him (sucking in his cheeks as he observed the glowing handprint on his master's cheek).

Dear Percy:
You won't forget you promised to attend my engagement party. You promised! Saturday night at de la Fayette's house. Everyone knows where it is. If you don't come I shall never speak to you ever again. I mean it!
Please bring bon bons, Percy. The chocolate ones. You always used to bring me bon bons. The Duke de Mercoeur never allows me chocolate because I've broken out in spots and he's so afraid I'll be fat like maman. If you bring the bon bons, I shall kiss you -- and these days I know how!
Love, Angel�.

Percy was chuckling as he walked toward the drawing room, leaving a trail of muddy footprints on the freshly washed marble floor. This little missive from Angel� gave him exactly the opening he needed for his next letter to Goddess Saint-Just. The baronet was not out of the game yet!

Sir Percy Blakeney was haunting her. Ever since that morning when he proposed, she realized how fully he had invaded her life. It was frustrating enough for him to leave so abruptly, his kiss still burning on her lips and the smell of him perfuming her room. After lying there so long, stunned by his departure, Marguerite got up to find articles of his clothes that still remained, left behind it his flight. His coat and hat on the chair, a stocking that Madeleine would found the next morning under the dresser, a sapphire cravat pin which she dropped into a pocket of the coat � it still smelled of him. It was good he left when he did, she wouldn�t be able to make a decision with his hurt eyes upon her � though even now she worried that he might do himself some harm. But it was more than just his clothes and that kiss (why did he choose then to leave?), there were so many little reminders. The sapphire ring � placed into a box on the bedside table, out of sight and hopefully out of mind. The cold outside prevented an notion of throwing open the windows and airing out the room. Even dressing was an exercise in Madeleine�s patience.

�This one?� A soft coral.

�No.� She had worn that one the last day Percy had been in Paris before leaving for England.

�This one?� Green. Percy always liked her in that green one.

�No.� And so the process went on until Marguerite settled on a teal gown, which she couldn�t recall clearly if Percy had ever seen her in � good enough. She decide to postpone her decision to the next day, when hopefully she would be breathing in less of his essence and any lingering effects of that kiss had dissipated. She must not speak to him until she had an answer, anything else would be torture.

Still Percy would not let her forget � first he sent her white roses. Roses this time of year! Madeleine sworn she had never knew that flowers could grow this time of year and nearly fainted at the suggestion of sending them back or throwing them out. She placed them in a delicate blue vase on the table before the window where they put the snow on the pane to shame. The note that accompanied them was short and to the point. ��consider what your hesitation is doing to my heart.' She sent word out that she would be otherwise occupied and that she would not be holding or attending any salons. She spend most of two days in her apartment, having Madeleine inform any callers that she was otherwise occupied � her English lover not doubt. On the second day she wrote to Suzanne, begging her to come and was answered by the Marquise du Tournai that her daughter was too busy.

She returned to the theater the found day, fearing that Percy would make an appearance and demand an answer. As she dressed, she reconsidered telling Armand of Percy�s proposal, but feared she already knew the response: �But he�s an aristo!� Before taking the stage Filippa warned her that the baronet had indeed come and was sitting in the box facing the stage. Waiting in the wings, Marguerite peeked out to see sitting there intently watching the spot she would enter from. His crimson jacket reflected on his face so that she looked flushed. She must not look at him. If she was to perform, she must not look at him. On the stage she could feel his eyes boring into her. Didn�t he know it was torture enough? It the dressing room, she was surprised when he did not make an appearance � she felt sure he would. Amongst her visitors was the Marquis de Saint Cyr, who complimented her a little too liberally on her performance and stayed a little too long for comfort. Simone, who like many sensed the tension between Marguerite and Percy as she performed, confronted her, at which point Marguerite confided in her the predicament she face � omitting the sum of Percy�s assets. After talking most of the night, Simone recommended that Margot write the Marquis for an interview with his daughter. Finally went to slept clutching the pillow on which Percy last rested his head and the note he left her at the theater, �I will love you forever� desperately missed having the heat of him beside her and his strong arms around her.

She wrote the Marquis the following morning. Spent most of the day rereading Percy�s love letter. She should marry him, she thought as she rose from bed to dress. At breakfast as she sat opposite Armand, she admonished herself for jumping to a hasty decision � what of poor Armand! If she married Percy she would move to England and be unable to protect him. Later in the afternoon as she tried to write to Percy that she was not ready to marry, she stumbled across a pressed flower in the journal on her desk� the rose he had given her in Saint Cyr�s garden! Tearing the letter to shreds, she lamented her indecision � and Percy was suffering for it! That evening, she received word that Suzanne would come on Thursday. Once again Saint Cyr attended the comedie and called on her afterward. She thought she saw him speaking to Simone, but was to preoccupied to give it much thought.

Thursday arrived. Marguerite laid out her arguments for and against marrying Percy in preparation for Suzanne�s arrival. When her friend arrived, Marguerite explained the situation. �Tell me you said, no,� the girl insisted � Marguerite hadn�t expected her to take it this badly! Marguerite presented her argument well enough to convince Suzanne and herself that it was right to marry Percy - she never really realized how important he was to her. What a tremendous relief! She would have to write him after the show.

The marquis came again that night, called on her as the last of her admirers left. She wondered if his recent interest in her had to do with Armand. If only! �I am certain your are aware that I have been interested in your� work for some time,� he breathed in her ear, standing far too close for comfort. She listened to his compliments while politely smiling and watching for Simone. It was when he delivered his offer for her services that she realized he was trying to buy her as his mistress. �I am told that you have quit with your last lover,� he remarked. Simone!

�I fear, Monsieur Saint-Cyr, that you have been misinformed,� Marguerite said plainly, sweeping past him and out the door. She meet Simone at the exit.

�Well�� Simone asked hopefully.

�What were you thinking?� Marguerite demanded.

�Now that Sir Percy�s out of the picture, you need a new lover. Saint-Cyr can provide for you, besides if Armand gets into anymore trouble you�ll be in a better position to intercede.�

�I would sooner live in poverty than take Saint-Cyr as my lover,� Marguerite said plainly.

�Then perhaps we�ll find you someone on Saturday,� Simone smiled.

�Saturday?�

�LaFayette�s soiree, cherie! Don�t tell me you forgot? There will be many potential lovers attending.�

�As I told Saint-Cyr, I already have one.�

�Then why didn�t you say �yes�?"

That night she went to bed, wondering whether she had decided correctly. She had not seen nor heard from Percy since the night he attended the comedie, maybe he had lost interest or� she would not think of �or�. She hadn�t eaten or slept well since he asked her and she fancied she still could smell him. God how she missed him! Perhaps she would know for certain when she saw him.

Seven days. What do you say after seven days? How could she writing him with an answer when she didn�t have one � what if she didn�t know when she saw him? She was almost terrified when she received a letter for him. Perhaps he was breaking with her! It would serve her right making him wait so long. Much to her relief it was an invitation to LaFayette �s � that is amongst the silly sweet endearances had he typically wrote and she had come to miss. She had the courier wait as she composed a response.

She had almost written �Love, Marguerite�, but worried he might think assume an answer she didn�t have. She kissed the page where she wrote his name, sealed it, and sent the message on its way. Curling up in a chair by the fire, Marguerite read and re-read the letter Percy had sent. Closing her eyes and remembering the last night they had laid together � god how she missed him!

It was a good thing Armand had not come, a very good thing. Armand was impetus and hot-tempered by nature, and though the bruises had healed, his pride was still wounded from the attack the Marquis de Saint-Cyr had order on him. If he had come and seen the man relentlessly pursuing his sister there would have indeed been another confrontation from which Armand would have come off the worst. �You may rest at ease, cherie,� Simone said as she glanced over her shoulder. �I don�t see Saint-Cyr� I don�t even see your petit Chauvelin and he is seasoned at tracking you down.� Simone sat back in her seat. �� I haven�t even seen you �Sir Percy�.� Simone said the name with disgust. �I want to dance� I want to� socialize�� As she said this she eyed a couple of men talking nearby, taking stock.

�I would lament your position if not for the position you have put me into,� Marguerite remarked following Simone�s gaze. �I can scarce believe that you thought I would have any interest in Saint-Cyr, especially now.�

�The matter is done with,� Simone argued. �I doubt Saint-Cyr even think of Armand anymore� besides he is a very generous lover, I�ve heard.�

�I have a lover,� Marguerite said resolutely, wondering where on earth Percy was at that moment.

�It was my impression you had gotten rid of that fool� or have you changed your position on marriage.� Simone raised an eyebrow and smirked as Marguerite shifted uncomfortably in her chair. �Do you think he will be content to continue being your lover after you turn his proposal down?�

�I never said that.�

�Then you are marrying him?�

�I don�t know��

�Ahhhh�� Simone laughed. �Now we see the flaw in your logic� you say you wish to marry for love� and yet you mistrust love. Do you love him?�

��no�� Marguerite confessed at length. �� I�m beginning to think I am incapable of feeling love.�

�Then what do you see in him?� Simone baited. �If you don�t love him and you don�t want anything from him� then why worry?"

�He is really very sweet and charming,� Marguerite said defensively. �I don�t know why, but I do not want him out of my life� I am miserable enough when he is away.� Talking about Percy already was making her stomach churn. She wanted to see him and yet worry about went she finally would.

�Marguerite, mon cher, I am beginning to wonder about your reputation for being so clever,� Simone chuckled.

�What do you mean?�

�I mean marry Sir Percy,� Simone said. And perhaps you will realize some day that you do love him.

Marguerite eyebrow rose, �You would see me so soon as Lady Blakeney? A spring wedding? Packed off to England so that you can reign over the comedie?�

�I was thinking of his income.�

Chauvelin walked around the edge of the room, occasional exchanging words with acquaintances, but mostly listening to bits of conversation that faded in and out of the hum of voice and looking for HER. He knew for a fact that her English lover was in Paris , but that she was not entertaining him at the Comedie Francaise, or in her home, nor had they been seen together in over a week. She finally cut him loose� or he her, that is if he was the world�s greatest fool. As far as he knew she hadn�t yet replaced him either, which meant that the lady was in need of a new lover and Chauvelin intended to be the luck recipient of her sweet affections. He knew she was here, had bribed one of the footmen for that fact, it was all a matter of finding his darling.

Passing by the terrace, he heard rather than saw Danton decrying the Australian and making all manner of allusions about their royal representative. If anyone argued his points, their voice was drowned out by the boisterous statesman. Chauvelin picked up the pace, desiring to avoid being pulled into a debate with George Jacques. Following a stream of people moving towards the ballroom � she always enjoyed dancing � Chauvelin peered over shoulders hoping to catch sight of Marguerite Saint-Just. His progress was halted by a restraining hand place on his shoulder, whipping his head around, he found Beaucarnot standing near the door to a parlour. He had asked Beaucarnot to find Mademoiselle Saint-Just and judging by the man�s expression he had. Beaucarnot jerked his thumb at the open door and Chauvelin moved into the room. It was then that he heard her. �I can scarce believe� especially now�� A few words, but it was her sweet voice.

�How long has she been in here?� Chauvelin whispered pulling Beaucarnot into a corner where he could still see her.

�A few minutes.�

�And Blakeney?�

�He isn�t here.� Chauvelin smirked, and shooed Beaucarnot away. �Keep your eyes open.� Perfect, no obnoxious English fool to interrupt. He edged a little closer trying to hear who her companion was. �Then you are marrying him�� The statement stopped him, turned his blood to ice in his veins. Marrying? Who? Her voice was too soft to hear Marguerite�s response. ��you wish � love� do you �if you � love him and � why worry��

��really very sweet�� Without realizing it, Chauvelin had backed up against the wall in shock. What madness was this? Surely he had misheard � Marguerite�s opinions on marriage were legendary. There was no way� ��marry Sir Percy!� Chauvelin staggered. If he were struck dead at that very moment it would be more merciful than living with the knowledge that that arrogant, stupid Blakeney! Chauvelin staggered out of the parlour, moving blindly through the outside corridor until he found himself out on the terrace, where the cool air began to revitalize him.

That whore was going to marry the Englishman! That siren that had captured his heart, was no more than a common actress� aligning herself to Blakeney�s fortune� How could she?

Marguerite rolled her eyes. �There is more to a man then the content of his accounts, Simone. Some of the most prominent men in Paris today are not terribly wealthy.� But considering the developments in France of late and the path the new nation was traveling, perhaps she had spoken too hastily. �Do you even remember the cause of your dislike for Sir Percy? When you met him for the first time at Etienne Saint-Cyr�s engagement party, you alluded to me that you could steal him away and he dismissed your lures, despite the sweet promises your eyes held. I can only imagine he did so for love of me. Have you ever been loved so? It goes straight to your heart. It is that which captivates me, not his wealth or title��

Simone sank back into the chair, folding her arms over her breast and scowling at the memory of Percy�s rebuff. She listened with only half an ear as she envisioned Sir Percy gazing on her with disinterested eyes, turning his nose up at her. She could only imagine that anyone would want him for his fortune, Marguerite would probably be the only woman who would love a man like that. �How do you know he�s even going to come?� she said pettishly.

�I told you, he wrote to invite me,� Marguerite replied. �He said he was invited by a friend.�

�Wrote you?� Simone perked up a bit � an opportunity. �Who is this friend? Lafayette?�

�I don�t think so,� Marguerite shook her head for emphasis. �When last we supped together Percy queried about Lafayette�s identity.�

Simone tapped her finger on the arm of the chair thoughtfully, �When he wrote you did he say who did invite him?� While it was possible that Percy knew many of the former aristocracy, she knew for a fact that he was intimate with the Saint-Cyrs � the family that Marguerite was at odds with. Would she be so praising if she knew the marquis or one of his daughters had invited him?

�He didn�t say.�

�What did he say?� Simone pushed. �You know it might have been Etienne� if I recall he was old friends with Sir Percy� no, wait � as I recall Etienne stayed home with his wife � pregnancy has made her decidedly clingy�� Simone wrinkled her nose at the thought. �Then again it might be Saint-Cyr�s chubby daughter� the one they are trying to marrying to marry off�� Simone watched Marguerite pale and extract a letter hidden in her bosom. Simone grinned � predictable. She watched Marguerite fumble through the pages looking for clues.

�He doesn�t say� but then�� Before Marguerite finish that thought Simone snatched the letter and scurried out the door looking to do mischief. Marguerite hurried after her. Hearing an occasional phrase read somewhere ahead as Simone shared Percy�s heart-felt sentiments with anyone, ��I am a man drowning in the sea of your eyes��, �� flaming crown � each time I think to touch it I fear my hand will be burnt!�, ��if you are not mine forever I will die�� If thoughts were actions Simone would have met a violent end.

Marguerite caught up with Simone on the terrace, where she found an audience. �� I have saved a thousand kisses for you, my precious rose, my angel, that would surpass any others I have given you. Can you not already feel�� Marguerite pulled the pages from Simone�s hands, to the disappointed sighs of nearly a dozen spectators. �Ladies and Gentlemen, the future Lady Blakeney!� Simone announced, with a smirk. Marguerite reddened with the applause.

Thrusting the letter into Marguerite�s palm, Simone slipped away with a wink. The damage done, she didn�t need to stay and revel in the aftermath once she got what she wanted. What if Percy heard the rumour before she spoke to him? He would think she had her answer already, it would crush him anew if her final response was no. Simone had gone too far.

A few of those who had heard stepped forward to congratulate her, barring Marguerite from following and reprimanding the little trouble-maker. At a loss for a response, Marguerite wordlessly accepted the complements and well-wishing, brushing off the dirty words and looks of those who thought Marguerite had abandoned her revolutionary ideals. As quickly as possible Marguerite broke away to seek out Simone � pity she couldn�t get a taste of her own medicine.

<Percy>

It was a bleak and miserable day with the sky a washed-out white to match the dirty snow mounded in the field. Two black-clad grave-diggers bent over rusted shovels, hurriedly pushed aside so that the funeral cortege might draw nearer the fresh cut hole in the ground. The earth was rich brown loam streaked with red clay (Percy's planter instincts rose to the surface at the sight) and he thought about the white worms that would inhabit such rich soil. The coffin, resting on the wagon, was of cheap pine, unvarnished. It's inhabitant, a man of the people, was not in possession of the funds required for burnished mahogany or polished cherrywood. No brass handles or fittings drew the eye as the pine box was lifted onto the shoulders of the pallbearers. Percy gave scant attention to the black-clad scarecrows who shouldered the box, preferring to concentrate on the coffin as it was swung to the ground.

Thud. It made a solid thud as it hit the earth, suggesting it weighed quite a bit, but Percy was certain it couldn't weigh so very much. The man inside who had begun his eternal rest was slightly built, without a single gold button to add substance to the load. Percy closed his eyes, drawing forth the vision of the so-familiar face. The visage was a craggy rock-face, the nose a slab of granite jutting sharply outward. Brows thick and gently winged at the corners, pulling down the oval eyes into a semblance of hound-dog misery. Such eyes were meant to be brown and soulful, but these were not. They were the silver-blue of ice floes stippling the Atlantic in January and posing as great a threat as icebergs to any man who dared venture too near. Percy had marked those eyes on many an occasion; he'd spent whole nights wondering at the foul childhood that would so mark a soul with such incredible evil - long, long had he contemplated the wonder of this man's warped personality. What would he do with his nights now that the menace was dead?

" . . . ashes to ashes; dust to dust . . ." - the familiar words were intoned and clods of moist dirt bounced on the sturdy coffin lid. Percy blinked. For a moment he felt as if the lid had become a glass top and he could see - see inside. He blinked again. God in heaven, he could make out the waxy visage of the embalmed Chauvelin. Eyelids of cold marble covered the silvery eyes - he appeared asleep. No, sick and unconscious, with no colour to add depth to his hollowed cheeks. The man was ascetic, not one to indulge in chop and gravy when thin soup would do. Not a man to nurse a robust Burgundy when a sip of claret would keep him warm. His hair, the soft brown of a spaniel's fur was greyed at the temples - Sir Percy Blakeney had given Chauvelin more than one sleepless night. But the war was ended and Percy felt genuine remorse at his enemy's demise.

"Sir Percy. You wished to be called at six, sir." At the sound of the voice, the dream dissolved. Percy blinked and the familiar green walls of his bedchamber came into view. A thin band of sunlight arced into the room, brightening the carpet, rendering all about him familiar. Percy rubbed his eyes and sat up. It had been a dream - only a dream. So, too, then, had been the vision that started the sequence of Chauvelin collapsed on the ground, Blakeney easing his sword out of the man's bloody guts. "Frank has your clothes laid out for the party, Sir Percy," Henshaw whispered. "You want to make a start."

Percy sighed. "Yes, yes," he muttered aloud while whirring in his brain was the thought, Chauvelin is not dead. Not dead. The duel had never happened and the fatal sword thrust had been nothing more than a wish. He was silent and moody as he allowed Frank to help him into silk breeches of robin's egg blue and a coat of white satin that was embroidered with five shades of blue silk thread. He would be beautiful. Memorable. Marguerite would be struck anew at his gorgeous appearance and agree to marry him. "No, no - I think the diamond ring would be more suitable. Put that one away and bring me the diamond." Percy shooed Frank away with a wave of his hand, then he stood before the mirror and inspected himself. Not bad. His breeches were not quite as tight as they should be, he'd lost a few pounds in agonizing over Marguerite's decision and the white satin drew attention to his pale complexion (from lack of sleep). Perhaps he should wear the blue coat instead. Frank returned with the diamond ring at the same time as Henshaw appeared in the doorway. "Your carriage is waiting, sir." If he took the time to change he'd be ever so late. He was already nearly an hour late as it was. Perhaps it would be well for her to see the marks of suffering on his face - yes. He would go as he was and present himself to the world as the grieving lover. The melancholy idea suited him perfectly.

"Very well, Henshaw, let's depart at once," Percy said, pocketing a scented handkerchief, then taking his hat from Frank and situating it at a jaunty angle on his head.

Simone glided away from the trouble she made feeling only slightly satisfied with the result, she would have been more satisfying if Blakeney had been present on the occasion. What a treat it would be to watch him squirm under the ridicule that doubtlessly would have followed! It was unfortunate Marguerite took his place - the lady had some temper when provoked.

Pacing down the hall to the ballroom, Simone's eyes swept the rooms she passed, taking in the situation and occupants and coming to her own theories about what she saw. One room revolutionaries - decrying the opulence around them, another former aristocrats decrying the presence of the revolutionaries. There were one or two potentially compromising scenes, which might have proved entertaining, but likely would have ended the moment she enter the picture. Pity. There's nothing like a good scandal.

Simone found Lafayette 's home less decadent and therefore less appealing than when it was compared with Saint-Cyr. She was more familiar with the lay out of Saint-Cyr's estate and thus felt more at ease, whereas if she wanted to slip away with some hospitable count at this party, it would be a bit more to find a place to take him.

"I take it, Madame Laferriere, that you are searching for someone?" a voice said from above which Simone knew too well.

"Perhaps..." she said coyly. "Unless, you are searching for me, Jacques." She imaged the use of his familiar name would send a blush to his cheek and when she turned to see him descending the stairs, it was still there." With his eyes he motioned her to an isolated corner of the room which he followed her too. "Am I to continue playing match-maker for you with Mademoiselle Saint-Just... or have you other things in mind." She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.

"Not in as much," he whispered. "I wish you to become better acquainted with a colleague of mine. He is a foreigner and has met with mixed popularity since his arrival. I'm sure you could make him feel... welcome." He took her hand and raised it to his lips and in so doing slipping a note into her palm. "He should be waiting in the Red Drawing room by the fire." Smirking and retaining eye contact, Simone slipped the document into her bodice.

"Well, then I shall have to show him the hospitality our people are know for, hmmm..." Simone left the Marquis and took the round-about path to the room, know all too well that Saint-Cyr did not intend to appear connected to whomever she was sent to meet. Perhaps her rendezvous would show his gratitude for her hand in this assignment just as she knew Saint-Cyr would show his gratitude later.

Chauvelin - the very last person she wanted to encounter that evening. After Simone's antics, Marguerite's tolerance for Chauvelin's pettishness was nonexistent. Why did he have to show up now of all times? "Was your love for this... Blakeney... enough to change your ideals?" he fumed, doggedly hounding her footsteps.

"My affairs are my own," Marguerite retorted, refusing to stop or to face him. "You make presumptions of me with no basis on any evidence but your own jealousies."

"I can only imagine you must love him if you are willing live with the hypocrisy a marriage to him would bring," he hissed in her ear. The accusation coupled with the sight of Saint-Cyr ensconced in a corner with Simone brought Marguerite to a grinding halt. Simone was helping Saint-Cyr maneuver his way into Marguerite's bed! It made sense the meeting between them at the theater, Simone's insistence that Marguerite come with her - they were conspiring against her!

Turning her wrath on Chauvelin, Marguerite said, "What hypocrisy do you speak of? If all men are equal how is it hypocrisy to love rich man as opposed to a poor man, or a poor man to a rich man? Really, mon petit Chauvelin, you of all people should know it is the measure of the man that must be judged!" Marguerite lost sight of Simone and Saint-Cyr for a moment as a footman passed with a tray of glasses and when she saw them again and Simone was slipping a note into her bodice, wearing that particular look she had when she expected to be receiving someone's favours - a love note? A meeting place and time for an intimate rendezvous? Marguerite turned away least Chauvelin follow her gaze. "Equality for all must be equality in all things.

She knew Chauvelin was trying to shame her, but only succeeded in angering her. How dare he presume to lecture her! She owed him nothing! It was he who was too bold by far. While it was true that she had not discussed the matter with Armand, it was not because she feared disapproval (would he disapprove?), but rather that he might take umbrage that he was a part of her hesitation. But that was none of Chauvelin�s affair. He seemed to take great delight hectoring her about duty and responsibly without having any right to do so.

Marguerite plunged through the fortress of people, pointedly ignoring Chauvelin as he berated her. She had nearly on told him that she would not be marrying Blakeney if only to stop his endless tirade, but doubted that it would stop him. She had given in too often in the past to Chauvelin�s rants so that now she doubted she could stop him if she wanted to. She hurried to the ballroom in the hopes that Percy had already arrived and was trapped in the minuet with some titled daughter who wouldn�t take no for an answer � not there � then turned on her heels to search else where.

Percy was no where to be found, it was possible he hadn�t arrived� or that he wasn�t going to (what if she made him wait too long?). He�d made his presence known when she wanted most to be alone and now that she needed him he was gone. Chauvelin still pursued her doggedly like a hound on the scent demanding answers. �You make too many assumptions without knowing detail, Chauvelin. It will get you in trouble one day,� she scolded. �Who put this idea of marriage in your head? Simone? She is ever the prankster.� That silenced him for a moment. �How many times have you seen her amuse herself at my expense?� He had been there when Simone had read Percy�s letters in the past to know that Simone had a legacy of embarrassing others for her own amusement. Marguerite paused by the entrance to a room they had approached, not so much looking (there were too many people in the way) as listening for a familiar voice or laugh. Still no Percy.

She was beginning to fear that he would never come (was he doling out payback for the long week?) and that Chauvelin would never cease as he picked up his lecture where he'd left off. As they reached the end of the long corridor, Marguerite turned left into the room which had fewer inhabitants than the last several. Small groups of men talking quietly amongst themselves, eyes darting up at her entrance. Perhaps this was not the room to lingering in Chauvelin presence or not. She turned to leave when she spotted that hellspawned Simone curled up by the fire with Saint-Cyr�s love letter. It must have been quite tantalizing for Simone to ignore what what's going on around her or for her to slink off to this corner rather than finding more energetic past times. Perhaps she was worried that someone would turn the tables on her.

Perhaps that was the way to escape Chauvelin and give Simone a taste of her own medicine! She could easily snag the letter - Simone was to absorbed to react in time. Read a few word to give Simone the idea that she was about to have her trick played on herself and give chase (as Marguerite had) and hopeful lose Chauvelin as they did so. At the very least it might change the topic from the uncomfortable one he'd insisted on for the past half of an hour. "Are your love letters as detailed as mine," Marguerite forced a laugh as she snatched a sheaf or two of the letter from Simone's grasp. Simone looked up in confusion, then horror as she realized what Marguerite intended to do. "Let's see what your latest lover has to say about your eyes, shall we?" Simone made a grab, which Marguerite dodged as she tried to pick a point to start. She found a promising opening which began with "I need you..." That would do. "Simone's lover writes, 'I need you to remain vigilant until I have heard word of when and where the family is being transferred...'" It was sounding less like a love letter. '... no one must proceed until we are certain that we can act safely.' Marguerite read to herself, then looked at Simone who stared at her frozen in horror. The papers were yanked from her hands in a gesture similar to that which she'd used, she turned to see Chauvelin staring down at the page and wondered what else was there written.

The evening which had begun distressing had spiraled impossibly downward since. Not long before Marguerite had worried over her reunion with her lover, now she was desperate to find him. This desire was more than a wish to avoid Chauvelin's tirade, she had to find him before the rumour that raised the little revolutionary's ire reached his ears. She had broken his heart already and would not permit further damage to come to it. However, despite her best efforts, Percy was no where to be found.

Could it be that he had yet to arrive? � or that he wasn't going to? No, perish the thought! Chauvelin would not let Chauvelin's word cast doubt in her mind, despite the fact that he followed her relentlessly pounding home the ideas that Percy was anything but the good, honest soul she knew. Tricky little devil did know how to pick out and play on a person's fears, but she would not let him succeed this time. She had had her fill over the past two years she'd known him, badgering her about her duty to Armand in an effort to manipulate her. Even Armand was beginning to wary to Chauvelin's ploy, she suspected. And yet still she held her tongue for those few ties the boy retained to the little hothead.

"Listen to reason!" Chauvelin demanded, as he spewed out responsibilities that he had not right to lay down. "Mark my words, Margot, if you marry him you'll regret it every day of your life."

"You make too many assumptions without knowing detail, Chauvelin," she scowled. "It will get you in trouble one day. Who put this idea of marriage in your head? Simone? She is ever the prankster." That silenced him for a moment. "How many times have you seen her amuse herself at my expense, hm?" He had been there when Simone had read Percy's letters in the past to know that Simone had a legacy of embarrassing others for her own amusement. Marguerite paused by the entrance to a room they had approached, not so much looking (there were too many people in the way) as listening for a familiar voice or laugh. Still no Percy. She was beginning to fear that he would never come... she was beginning to regret holding back those responds she had written and torn up while trying to come to a decision. At least he would have known she cared - even if the final answer was no.

Marguerite continued down the corridor, with each step the chords of music thinned out and the murmer of voices continued. It seemed unlikely that if Percy were here that he would venture down this hall, but what else was there? Chauvelin would be there whether she walked circle around the estate or merely stood and watched the dance - at least walking she could hide the signs of how much his words were affecting her and there would be less risk that he would ask her to dance. Chauvelin would have her believe that Percy cared nothing for her knew that he did... where words had failed he had proved himself in some many kind considerations.

"He doesn't love you!" What if he didn't anymore? A week is a long time... an eternity to some... (please don't let it have been too long).

As they reached the end of the long corridor, rather than continue on into the crowded foyer Marguerite turned left into a less crowded drawing room. Small groups of men talking animately amongst themselves, revolutionaries mostly but their dress and one or two faces which seemed vaguely familar. It was worth a try, perhaps it was time to tun back to and hover near the dance where Percy was more likely to linger. She turned to leave when she spotted the unusually quiet Simone curled up by the fire, her chin raising on one hand and Saint-Cyr's love letter in the other. It must have been quite tantalizing for Simone to ignore what what's going on around her (especially with Chauvelin's litany but a few feet away) or for her to slink off to this corner rather than finding more energetic past times. Perhaps she was worried that someone would turn the tables on her.

"I can only imagine a love letter to Simone Laferriere is as provocative as the lady herself," Marguerite forced a laugh as she snatched a sheaf or two of the letter from Simone's grasp. Simone looked up in confusion, then horror as she realized what Marguerite intended to do. "Let's see what your lastest lover has to say about your eyes, shall we?" Simone made a grab, which Marguerite dodged as she tried to pick out a few words - harder to do when moving than she had suspected. She found a promising phrase which began with "I need you..." That would do. "Simone's lover writes, 'I need you to remain vigilant until I have heard word ..." she paused to move her thumb which obscured the rest of the sentence "... of when and where The Family is being transferred...'" 'The Family'? The phrase seemed out of place.

Marguerite stopped in her track as realization began to dawn on her, unaware that Simone had ceased pursuit. '... no one must proceed until we are certain that we can act safely. Only then can they be moved out of France ...' Marguerite read on in silence. No longer in motion other word stood out on the page even though Marguerite had stopped reading. Saint-Cyr was aiding the Austrians, gathering intelligence for them... Marguerite turned to Simone, question spilling from her eyes, the look of horror that was returned was more than sufficient answer. The shock numbed her.

Marguerite felt course material graze an exposed portion of her arm and looked up to see Chauvelin hover by her shoulder, staring down at the letter. Without a word he took a hold of the letter and Marguerite, too stunned to resist, made no effort to stop him. What little she had read was damning, a glance at Simone told her it was worse. Lord, what had she done!

Marguerite's childish antics did nothing towards extinguishing the flames of Chauvelin's temper. She was supposed to be the more sensible of the two siblings and yet she chose to play games rather than take responsibility - one would have imagined that she would learn from her brother's example to stay away from aristos. He watched Marguerite, little dancer that she was, twirl away from Simone's awkward lunges (as if the girl could compete in anything with Margot!) Margot dodged, narrowly, around him while eluding her friend, silk skirts caressing his shins (oh, heaven!).

It would have been a cruel game if he had not seen the other woman play it before, but that Marguerite would do so was infinitely more shocking. "Let's see what your latest lover has to say about your eyes, shall we?" Marguerite taunted mischievously. Chauvelin rolled his eyes, he was in no mood for drivel. What did these women see in such nonsense? Delight in the man's humiliation, he wagered. "'I need you to remain vigilant until I have heard word ...'" she quoted and stopped abruptly. Odd thing for a love letter... The chase had ended and Simone shrank back defeated while Marguerite stared at the page her back to him. Bad news he surmised, stealing up, Chauvelin looked over her shoulder (resisting the urge to press closer for the benefit of observing her perfect breasts) and glanced over the page. Robespierre's name stood out as well as his own, from just a cursory inspection the letter outlined treason on the part of the author and it's intended recipient.

Moving closer, Margot looked up at him as his careful extracted the two pages for her hand and watched as he turned to Simone and took a hold of what she was holding. By this time all those in the room were watching intently, as Chauvelin browse the content of the pages. The author was conspiring with Austria that was clear, providing detailed knowledge on actions in the Assembly and the situation of the royal family, all this sign by... Saint-Cyr. Chauvelin met Marguerite's large eyes, did she know? Had she intended to expose the traitorous Saint-Cyr? It couldn't be coincidence that she turned up a paper that could get Saint-Cyr hung.

"Do you know what this is?" Chauvelin demanded of Simone. The girl stared at him mutely, shrinking back slightly. Oh, she knew and she knew the consequences of being connected to it. She had been caught reading it, but it was likely she was delivering it to another. "Who was this letter for?"

Simone shrank back under the intensity of Chauvelin�s gaze, fear plainly written upon her pale face. It was the first time Marguerite had ever seen Simone show fear in the face of anything� and with good reason. Whoever the writer and whoever the recipient might be, Simone was the courtier, just as tangled in the plot, just as likely to share their fate. In fact more so, since she had the letter in her possession. �You�ll hang along side this traitor,� Chauvelin said, when Simone fail to response. Tears welled up in the young woman�s eyes as she turned them on Marguerite � pleading.

�Don�t be melodramatic, my dear Chauvelin,� Marguerite said lightly, using every ounce of strength and talent that she was capable of. �You should be thanking Simone not berating her.� This stopped Chauvelin dead in his track as he turned to stare incredulously at Marguerite, as did every other eye in the room. Chauvelin�s eyebrow arched questioningly. �You act as though she were a spy, when anyone who knows her knows that Simone Laferriere has not interest in politics and intrigue.� He eyes flickered to Simone again before returning to stare intently at Marguerite. �I saw how Simone came into possession of the letter�� Simone became impossibly paler at this. �It was when we were in the foyer but a short time ago. I saw the letter fall to the floor but there were too many present to determine who it was that dropped it. I thought to pick it up myself, when I saw Simone swoop to pick it up� probably thinking it a lover�s missive.� This part she added in the hopes that Simone would build on the story. �Probably one of mine, since she had seen us pass��

Chauvelin met Marguerite�s eyes for a minute - interrogating, demanding an explanation for her intervention � and then turned on Simone. �Well?�

�I found the letter,� Simone�s voice cracked as she finally spoke. �You and Marguerite had just passed and I thought it one of those letters that Sir Percy continually sends her. I kept it thinking to have a bit of fun with it later�� she trailing off.

�See, it is perfectly simple,� Marguerite came to the rescue. �If she had not picked up the note you would never know the intrigue that is going on around you.�

He sensed she was trying to convey something to him, something that could not be said out loud. He sensed she knew the author of the treasonous document... perhaps this little set up was a deliberate act by which she could take her revenge. Clever little minx! She probably feared direct retaliation and so pantomimed the whole charade down to luring him here... but how long did she know of Saint-Cyr's treachery? Long enough for her to know that his contact would be here and that her whoring friend would play messenger.

She was too presumptuous to think that he would spare Simone even in favor of the larger prize, Saint-Cyr. She would have to give him much more if she was going to make that bargain. "Another theory is that Madame Laferriere was acting as courtier in this affair and that the letter was not accidentally dropped," Chauvelin assured as he wheeled on Marguerite. "Rather it was set up to appear so so that she would not be seen with her the author. You said you saw the letter fall? From whose hand?"

"There were so many people in the room..." she evaded.

"Then, perhaps we should try this from a different direction," Chauvelin countered. "You have a keen memory I know, so you would remember a familiar face in the room, yes?" She nodded hesitantly. "You are familiar with the Marquis de Saint-Cyr, yes? Was he in the room?" A glance at Simone and another nod. She knew enough not to lie to him in this, for he too recalled seeing the back of saint-Cyr's head as the other man left the room. "Now where was Saint-Cyr when the note fell and where was this woman?" He gave her a look that reminded her that her friend's life depends upon the answer she gave. He wanted her to admit seeing Saint-Cyr drop the letter, such proof would be irrefutable in a court.

Chauvelin knew that it was the Marquis, but one head was not enough for him, he wanted Simone's as well. If only she hadn't taunted him so often in the past! If Simone was to elude the grim death, Marguerite was going to have to think quickly. "Now where was Saint-Cyr when the note fell and where was this woman?" The look in Chauvelin's eyes told her he was more than happy to string the pair of them up here and now. She knew actually where they were and what they were doing, but if she were to say as much she have them both hung. Now, from experience she had learned that the best lies were those that were closest to the truth.

"Simone was standing in a nook by the stairs, in the arms of a man whose back was to me so I could not say who it was..."

"It was Poline," Simone caught on quickly. Poline was near the Marquis' built and height and what was more was that if he were asked he would confirm it later - he would recieve ample reward for saying as much.

"Yes... it could have been Poline," Marguerite affirmed, not wanting to appear too certain least Chauvelin suspect something. "Saint-Cyr was some distance from her, I didn't see when he entered the room only that he seemed to make idle conversion with a few of the guests as he passed through." This much was also true. After Simone departed, Saint-Cyr had exchanged brief words with a few of the people he passed.

"Did he drop the letter?" Chauvelin was becoming impatient.

"I couldn't say for certain," Marguerite faked an apologetic expression.

"Was he near it? Could he have dropped it?" another man at Chauvelin's elbow asked, as he read over Chauvelin's shoulder. He had been standing in the corner when they entered and had edged closer as they spoke. There was something unsettling and predatory about his features, but it seemed that he was acquainted with Chauvelin.

"Yes..." Marguerite said hesitantly, she did not like where this line of questioning was going. "... but there were others around as well. I only noticed it fluttering to the ground just before it landed." She came to feel that she was defeating herself against the entire room as though around them took a greater interest. If only Percy were there, he would make some flippant remark and sweep her out of the room before Chauvelin could think of a response. "It lay there a little while before Simone picked it up... it was possible for anyone to pick it up. I admit I thought to do so myself."

"You know that lying to defend a traitor, is also considered a treasonable offense," the man remarked silkily, tearing his eyes away from the paper to stare pointedly at Marguerite.

"... Then it is fortunate that no one here intends to do so," Marguerite countered, clasping her hands together to prevent their shaking. "I gather that you have your traitor, I suggest you take your grievances up with him..." She was startled at the coldness in her voice.

<Percy>

Carriage drivers stood warming their hands and gossiping about their masters before a fireplace in the corner of the long drive nearest the house. Percy envisioned Gouvier among them, telling all the world about the life he imagined took place inside the house Blakeney had rented for the season. He repositioned his hat as the coach halted - the wheels scarcely stilled before Henshaw ripped open the door. The man was in good shape, Percy had to admit that. "We're unspeakably late, Henshaw. I only hope Mademoiselle Saint-Just deigns to speak to me. Do me a good turn and see if you can find her."

Henshaw nodded and flew up the steps, conversing quickly with the doormen as Percy took the steps at a more formal pace. Decorum. Manners. Everything must be as it must be - as his father would say.

"The doorman says Saint-Just arrived some time ago, with her friend the lovely Simone." Percy rolled his eyes at that. No questioning where the footman's interests lay. Bosomy Simone was the talk of all Paris . She was vacuously pretty and Percy pictured her as the sort of woman who would booby trap a costume with long sharp pins if she disliked the actress who wore it.

"Very well, Henshaw. You've done well. So, what do I owe this doorman for his information?"

"Twenty sous, Sir Perrcy." Percy's eyebrows ascended at that. "Twenty sous! Lord you could stable a pair of horses for sennight for that!" The doorman coughed in Percy's face as the coins dropped into his hand and with an unimaginable slowness, the man shoved open the front door.

"I shall speak to the marquis," Percy said over his shoulder. "I'm a close friend of the family, you mark my words!" The doorman looked disbelieving, obviously unable to imagine anyone being a good friend if he hadn't seen them before.

"Come Henshaw, look smart, man. Ah, bon jour, monsieur," Percy addressed the butler. "Do tell the marquis that Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, has arrived."

The butler sighed, rolled his shoulders, and led the way inside the house. Percy didn't know what to expect. If all went well, he would leave this party with Marguerite's promise to marry him, but that was far from certain. The gambler in Percy had risen to the fore and he walked with exaggerated confidence as he was led to Saint-Cyr's library. What a lot of people were present! Men in frills and lace that had been fresh ten years ago mingled with men in the strictly tailored new-styled coats. Skirts were narrow and tails stiff. Cuffs and collars stood higher and stiffer than ever. Cravats were more complicated, yet among the group one still saw the single strand cravat of - lord when had that been the fashion? Percy recalled his father wearing such a thing an age ago.

"Ah, madame la marquise," Percy bowed very low before Saint-Cyr's wife. "Tis a pleasure to see you again." She returned his greeting with equal formality before sliding her palm against his arm and leading him into her husband's private library. "Dear Percy! This is the dreariest party I've ever held! Come and speak to my husband."

Heron - a loathsome spawn of the revolution. Cruel, bloody-thirsty� the revolution had been kind to Heron, providing him an atmosphere in which he could thrive and prosper. He appeared the ardent patriot, when Chauvelin wagered that his enthusiasm stemmed from his desire to inflict discomfort on others. Now he saw the opportunity to make Marguerite and her little friend squirm � he could sense her strain.

Chauvelin gestured for Heron to lean in. �Take care, citoyen, least we lose the bigger prize,� Chauvelin hissed. Heron cocked an eyebrow and Chauvelin went on to explain. �Mademoiselle Saint-Just�s brother was grievously injured on the order of le Marquis de Saint-Cyr� it is my belief that it was she who set up this little incident. I recall that she swore revenge on Saint-Cyr, if we are not careful we will lose the opportunity given us.�

�And the girl?� Heron sneered.

�Can be watched and dealt with later,� Chauvelin whispered. �If she is a spy, she may lead us to the other, dead and we will lose all connections to Saint-Cyr�s collaborator.� Heron straightened up, a nasty expression on his face. Chauvelin closed the distance between himself and Marguerite. �Would you swear to the statement you gave?� Marguerite gave a brief nod. �You are not trying to protect someone?� She shook her head. �Then you�ll have no problem accepting credit for delivering this paper to me�?� Marguerite paled. He was right - she did not want her hand shown in this. He set a hand on her arm, reassuringly. �It will be alright,� he whispered. �He will not be harmed.� He meant Armand. �I swear.�

Something about this other man frightened her, more than just his predatory appearance. She took her cue for little Chauvelin, who despite his many flaws was not one to unsettle easily and this man unsettle him. Simone too seemed to have some idea of who the man was or at least what sort of man he was as she shrank back, edging her way behind Marguerite. Her stomach churned as he picked to pieces her story - unsubtly hinting that her life too depended on this interview. Vaguely she wondered if this vile individual who try to find so way to implicate Armand too if she was found lacking � he seemed the sort to derive pleasure from the misery of others.

Simone gripped her elbow as Chauvelin and his colleague conferred in whispers, the former doing most of the talking and the latter most often nodding or scowling. This was Chauvelin�s golden opportunity to take his revenge on her for rejecting his attentions, she knew � would he be vindictive or compassionate. Those few moments ticked on to an eternity as Chauvelin made his case, making small telling gestures with his hand. The next moment Chauvelin�s colleague straightened up and grinned at her, while Chauvelin was at her side in three long strides.

�Would you swear to the statement you gave?� he began, setting one hand upon her right forearm and staring meaningfully into her eyes. He had a plan, she was certain - his eyes begged her to play along - and so she nodded hesitantly in agreement. �You are not trying to protect someone?� A slight pressure on her arm where Chauvelin�s hand rested. He was trying to help her! There was a slight twinge of guilt there, for all her rebuffs he was placing himself between her and certain danger. Perhaps she had been wrong about him all these years� �Then you�ll have no problem accepting credit for delivering this paper to me�?� That stopped her. Saying yes, would tie her to the Marquis' fate. It was possible that her word could help condemn the Marquis, but what else could she do. Her gambit had lead to this, she knew, but it had also been her foolishness that had created the problem. �It will be alright,� Chauvelin whispered. �He will not be harmed. I swear." Could he make such a promise? Saint-Cyr�s fate was in that letter, whether she agreed or not it was that more than anything that would condemn him. What was at stake was Simone�s fate and possibly her own. The damage done, all that was few was to try and minimize the damage. She blinked her understanding to Chauvelin.

�Problem? Why should I care?� she replied flippantly. �If it will end this matter then put down any name you wish.� She observed from the corner of her eye that Heron�s smile grew as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall.

�Very good,� he leered. �I believe Chauvelin has your address if you have any further questions, you may go if you wish.� It was a dismissal, one Marguerite was all to grateful for. With Simone trailing after her Marguerite headed for the door. �Mademoiselle Laferriere, you can catch up to your friend in a minute� we will need you to write out your full address in case there are any further questions.� The women exchanged glances and Marguerite left. Cold dread filling her belly.

The laughter and merriment of the world outside that room seemed at odds with what she had just experienced. Wandering aimlessly, she wondered what would happen next. Would Saint-Cyr be seized then and there? What exactly was in that letter that lead Chauvelin to suspect him? It was entirely possible that Chauvelin had merely guessed the name and she foolishly confirmed it.

Weak, shaken, Simone complied with Heron�s demand. Was it possible to get word to Saint-Cyr before the hounds of the revolution came pounding on the door? And what of her own life? Spitefully little Marguerite may think the matter resolved, but it was far from over. As she wrote out her name and address, their audience began to shuffle out, whether to spread word or flee suspicion from Chauvelin she didn�t know, but by the time she had finished there were less than half a dozen in the room, counting herself, and all watching her intently. Without a backwards glance she left the room. Pausing outside the door, to look for Marguerite, not knowing whether to slap her or thank her.

�So Saint-Just set this up to denounce Saint-Cyr? Quite a ploy, I must say,� Heron�s voice pronounced.

�Quiet, you fool!� Chauvelin returned. �Anyone could be listening.� Simone heard footsteps approach the door and took the cue to scurry away.

So Marguerite had planned this - impossible! It wasn�t in her nature... but then again she had known that the letter was from Saint-Cyr and that Simone would be waiting for her contact in that room. It was well known that Marguerite despised the Marquis for injuring her brother� but this was murder! Murder of not only Saint-Cyr but also those related to him. Simone trembled at the thought that her own life was still in a precarious position. But then there was the haughty manner with which she agreed with Chauvelin� she had planned it. It was all too perfectly set up.

She caught up with Marguerite outside the ballroom, Marguerite stopped and looked at her expectantly� still playing the part of an innocent. �Murderess!� Simone hissed at her and swept passed her into the ballroom.

It was not the reception she expected, not that she anticipated an entirely warm welcome, but to have that accusation flung in her face was a shock. Didn't she do everything she could to rectify her mistake? What had Chauvelin said to provoke that response? Marguerite ran after her and caught Simone by the hand, "What do you mean?" Simone rewarded Marguerite a withering stare as she pulled her hand free of her grasp.

"I never knew you could be so maliciously spiteful," she spat. Marguerite froze, uncertain of what to say. "You've murdered a family because of your pride... I hope you never forget the blood on your hands." With this Simone stalked away, already half down the corridor before Marguerite thought to pursue her again. There was no point, Simone was in no mood to be persuaded - not that Marguerite could blame her. She had committed nothing less than an atrocity and for all her excuses and justification, she was to blame for what would happen. By Simone had not heard Chauvelin's promise. "Nothing will happen to him." Not that she was entirely convinced that Saint-Cyr would be cleared of the charges, but perhaps Chauvelin could persuade the judges that mercy was in order, at the very least that the family was spared. "Nothing will happen to him, I swear." It was a small shred of hope. As much as she hated Saint-Cyr, there was not nearly enough hate in her heart for her to want to see him dead.

Dismally, she followed the sounds of music and laughter back to the ballroom. If Percy didn't come she would have to ply to one of the other guests for a ride home, or walk the distance... imagine walking the road at this hour in this dress! Percy. Her thoughts always came back to him. In that long week that she avoided him, he was all she could think about. As the now doomed Marquis de Saint-Cyr chased after her skirts, she hoped that she would find him. And now in her darkest hour, she wished that she was in his arms, where se knew she was safe and that his kisses might make her forget for a few moments the horrible deed which she had done. But she had driven him away and in his absent realized the error of her ways.

Unbelievable! Never had she thought Marguerite so malicious until now. But it was the only thing that made sense, it was too much coincidence, too convenient. She claimed to abhor Chauvelin, yet why was she with him? It was a hasty alliance in order to strike at Saint-Cyr - all of them. If they didn't leave Paris immediately their lives would be forfeit.

Simone could just imagine Chauvelin at the head of a ramble marching on Saint-Cyrs, shouting "a la lanterne!" Marguerite sitting at home practicing a startled _expression for when she heard the news. Saint-Cyr must be warned. And what of the real recipient of the letter? What happened to him? Was it a double betrayal?

Simone paused for a minute taking her bearings, where would the Marquise be? Far from the rendezvous spot for certain... but where? She made a mental checklist of where he would probably be and started off for the foyer. Somewhere along the way she got the impression she was being watched - followed! - but a quick check revealed no one. Still when she continued she felt malicious eyes upon her and on more than one occasion thought she hear the distinct click of boot on marble.

The foyer. The scene of the crime as it were. By some miracle of god's Poline was still loitering near the stairs. Simone ran too him. "Am I being followed," she whispered as her arms twined around his neck. Poline looked up a moment and back down into Simone's eyes.

"Nasty piece of business followed you out of the corridor," he replied. "Want me to break his head open for you?"

Tempting, but that might cause more trouble. "What does he look like?"

"Big fellow... looks a bit like a shark." Heron.

"Listen, Poline, I was with you an hour ago, understand?" she kissed him, and when she pulled away he nodded in acquiesces - his eyes still in some far off place where that kiss lead him. "You can drive me home tonight..." she winked. "... but there is something I must do." Simone pulled away from his clinging arms and followed the flow of people on to her next destination - the library. It was already filled with people, including Saint-Cyr and his family and at the center was Marguerite's arrogant suitor, Percy, making a spectacle of himself before Lafeyette, Saint-Cyr, and anyone who wished t listen, his inane laughter filling the room and grinding on the last of Simone's nerves. Let Marguerite marry the fool and she hoped they were both miserable together.

"You weren't thinking of speaking to Saint-Cyr, were you," a harsh voice came from behind her and to the right.

"Speak to him? Why ever should I do that?" Simone didn't look back at Heron. It was all she could do to maintain her nonchalance. "I thought I heard the sounds of someone going mad and find that it is no more that Marguerite Saint-Just's English fianc�." That had Heron's attention - for only a moment.

"But what are you doing here?" he questioned, watching the performers inside the room.

"Looking for him," she pointed to Blakeney. "Since my plans don't take me near Marguerite's house, he will have to take her home. Unless there are other volunteers..." She looked back over her shoulder at him as she said this. Heron smiled and edged into the room. She wasn't going to be able to speak with Saint-Cyr any time tonight. She should have burned the letter when the man didn't show up.

What have I done? she repeated to herself. She was always so cautious. When Armand took a fancy to pretty little Angele, Marguerite begged him to look else ("What do you think will happen when Saint-Cyr finds out?"), she tolerated Chauvelin if only because of the power he held which might protect or injure the rash Armand - every action taken after consideration. Except this one. How could she have been so foolish? So blind? Simone had every right to be angry with her... a few careless words and... She wasn't even sure what would happen... when the sword would fall? The sword of Damocles hung by a gossamer thread over Saint-Cyr and he had yet to look up and see it.

She could warn him! If she couldn't recant the damage she could prepare him, he might be able to get some of his family away before the party ended without too much notice. The children could be ushered off to bed and some pretense could be made for the Marquise to retire early. They could stay with friends or family until the problem was resolved or until they could leave the city. She caught the arm of a valet leaving for the kitchen with a tray of empty glasses - she'd seen him before at a previous party, though younger then. "Where is the Marquise?"

"In-in the library," he stammered out, startled by the address. When the party ended and he was helping in the clean up he would tell anyone who would listen that the actress, Marguerite Saint-Just had spoke to him, had laid her hand upon his arm - right there! They would laugh and call him a terribly liar... but it had been there. "I suppose next she pulled you into one of the bedroom, Naudier!" Fumier mocked. "No. Before I could get my breath back she was scurrying off down the hall."

The library. She knew where that was at least. She would tell him the letter he'd given Simone was intercepted by Chauvelin and that he needed to send his family away immediately. Then when there was more time she would tell him what had happened, her misunderstanding and how she had not intended to bring harm down on him or his family. As she approached the library she saw several figured lingering in the door, their attention captivated by what was happening inside. He wasn't be arrested now was he? Marguerite slipped passed a pair of rubberneckers and into the room that was fuller than ever she'd seen it. All eyes were on Percy as if he Scaramouche in some vaudeville performance. Percy. Her heart seized at the sight of him. Pale and thin. He was wasting away after a week of desperate waiting. She had done this.

At Percy's side, Lafeyette was purple with laughter and on Lafeyette's other side was Saint-Cyr, who seemed quite pleased with the success - oblivious to the dangers around him. She moved a little further in and spotted Heron leaning against a wall, his eyes shifting between Saint-Cyr and another man on the other side of the room - they were watching to see who Saint-Cyr contacted. She prayed Percy would not be suspect. Praise be that Heron was here instead of Chauvelin, who was spiteful enough to find some pretense to call Percy's character into question.

She had nearly forgot that Percy was a friend of the Saint-Cyrs, how would he react if he knew that she had betrayed them? Hadn't she hurt him enough?

<Percy>

Sipping a glass of the finest sherry Saint-Cyr had to offer, Percy was seated in an armchair, with legs crossed at the knees and laughing gaily as the marquise described "darling" Angele's marriage proposal. The little minx had given her prospective husband a merry chase, but in the end the duke had won her hand and she would be wed this summer. "It will be the wedding of the century," she said with pleasure. It would be, too, Percy knew. The position of Saint-Cyr in society, his wealth, his connections, all demanded no less. The king would be there as a matter of course, as would the Duke d'Orleans and all the royal family.

A knock at the library door interrupted them. "My friend!" Saint-Cyr said, wearing a broad grin. "Now, Percy, this is someone you simply have to meet. My long-time companion, the General, Marquis de la Fayette."

La Fayette. Percy stood. Bowed, making the extreme genuflection of the English court, which started a giggle here and there. It was to be expected. Everywhere he went people giggled behind their hands. His clothes were a sensation, his manners extreme.

"You are a marvel, sir," Percy drawled. "A wonder. Perhaps the eighth wonder of the world, what? I'm honoured to see you in person. Your picture is shown in the Louvre. My friend has copied it. You look more like her picture than *'s (artist). Can you believe it?"

People flooded into the room, most of them rushing to offer congratulations to Angel� on her engagement, but Percy became aware of an odd humming buzz of conversation rising behind him and felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Marguerite. He sensed her presence as he turned slowly until he was facing her. She coloured bright cherry as his eyes met hers, then blanched white. For a minute he thought she was going to swoon and he took a step toward her.

"And, of course, we must offer felicitations to the other bride," someone said, prodding Margot toward the centre of the room where Percy hovered beside Angel�.

"The other . . . bride?" Percy stumbled forward another step as if someone had rung a loud bell in his ear. Had Marguerite accepted someone else? He gaped at her idiotically. It seemed as if she was melting beneath the intensity of his gaze. He plodded a further step toward her, reaching . . . she held out her hands toward him. The bells in his head rang louder and he began to understand that it was not someone else. It was him. She had chosen to marry him. Hadn't bothered to tell him, rather, she'd announced it to her friends - as if she couldn't conceive of marrying anyone else. As if she'd been waiting for him to ask her. As if the whole thing were inevitable somehow. Her hands came to rest in his like little birds alighting. Percy was deaf to every voice croaking in the room around him, but he felt as if he could hear Marguerite's breathing. Her bosom rose and fell quickly, the movement matching the pounding of his own heart. They were already completely attuned to each other.

Despite her effort to move back Marguerite was jostled to the center of the room, a dangerous place to be considering. (What if Heron thought she was trying to warn Saint-Cyr?) It wasn�t long before she could feel his eyes on the back of her skull. She would have to take great care in her actions and words, leave quickly before Saint-Cyr continues his pursuit of her and gives Heron pause to wonder. She needed to take Percy away from this potentially dangerous situation before she hurt him anymore. Especially now. Especially now that she knew how much he meant to her � why had it taken so long for her to realize.

As if reading her thoughts, Percy turned to face her � his eyes somehow brighter than usual. He loved her. She cared for him, but he loved her. Despite the torment she put him through. Her relief dissipated with a whisper, �See I told you they were engaged, I recognized the name Blakeney�� The rumour! Even as she had rushed to find Percy, Simone�s mischief was quicker. ��we must offer felicitations to the other bride�� The same voice said aloud.

Percy grew pale, "The other . . . bride?" He didn�t understand � hadn�t heard the rumour. There was still time to take him aside and explain. Explain what? That she cared for him more than anyone else she�d ever known, but that he was mistaken in thinking she accepted. He stumbled towards her, his eyes filled with questions� her poor darling. She held her hands out to him and felt tears of joy well up as he took them. Her poor dearest Percy. It pained her to see the anguish she�d caused him. �Percy, I� I�� the words wouldn�t come. The words were not meant for ears other than his and her eyes were filled with apologies.

She felt her breath stop. She may never breathe again. God, her stays were too tight - an affectation for a woman as fat and old as she. Helplessly, she fluttered her peacock feather fan and tried to regain some semblance of control. Once her breathing returned to normal, her first cohesive thought was of charming Sir Algernon Blakeney, Percy's father, who had been so ambitious for his son. Sir Algernon had been a keen friend of her husband's, the two men discussing the merits of trade with the East India Company and investment in America. To see Sir Algie's silly son toss away all his advantages and marry his mistress - it was too much to bear!

When she thought of Sir Algie and his methodical approach to everything from his burgeoning fortune to his well-considered marriage into the Exeter family, the marquise shuddered. She imagined the horror her husband was experiencing at this moment, felt his admiration for their English friend evaporating like water poured onto sand. No one who had a title wished to see one of these other families with such a position to maintain waste an opportunity for advancement or improvement; so many of them married their cousins to ensure the purity of their positions.

The marquise de Saint-Cyr glanced contemptuously at the actress, Marguerite Saint-Just. A loose woman. The least deserving of women, in fact, to marry a man her husband declared was the richest man in all England . What a waste! Heartbroken, the marquise sought a chair where she might try to recover herself. Recover - how could she recover when the first thought into her head - if she was right, was that Marguerite Saint-Just was one of the many actresses her husband had slept with. The whole thing was unclean! And here she was, invited into her own home and by her husband.

How humiliating to have to face this woman - this actress - to see her speaking with her daughters, eyeing her son. Using the forks, drinking her wine. In a lurid, provocative pique she pictured Marguerite skulking around the bedchambers, digging under the beds, finding a chamber pot and using it - the whore! Her tainted leavings stinking up this fine house!

But that was the essence of the bitch's power wasn't it? What lie hidden beneath her skirts? The place where her husband had burrowed and spent his seed? Didn't she envy the girl her beauty? Her supreme, incomparable loveliness? The marquise bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears and she fled the drawing room. The celebration of Angel�s marriage was destroyed beyond all reason thanks to her husband's thoughtless inclusion of these tawdry, dissolute people in the party.

<Percy>

Crowded in on all sides by well-wishers and friends, Percy was pulled between wanting to join the group that was line-dancing their way back to the ballroom and finding some way to comfort Marguerite who looked as if she wanted to cry. God knew it had been an exhausting process, this extracting of an answer from her. Certainly she was giving up a great deal to marry him. Her home in Paris . Her career at the Comedie. Her friends. For a moment he included her religion (Catholic) but he discounted that. Margot was not religious - he was certain of that. She would have to give up any semblance of Catholicism - had he mentioned that? He knew he had mentioned how he would care for Armand. He felt her uncertainty, her fear, as if it were broadcast. Of course she was worried. She had lived in France all of her life. They were big changes he was demanding of her.

He saw the marquise de Saint-Cyr glaring at him balefully, as if he'd stolen her finest Sevres vase. Had she imagined he would marry one of her daughters? Percy shrugged. It was all too much to think about. There was Angel� with her father, holding court directly in front of the door. La fayette, still looking as if he wanted to take control of the situation except no one would listen to him. And Sir Percy, yearning to shelter Marguerite in his arms and afraid to reach out to her. Afraid.

He squared his shoulders and reached out a hand to her. "Dear Marguerite. I hadn't imagined our engagement would be celebrated in such fashion, but I'm pleased beyond words that we're together at last." And with that, he pulled her next to him, planted a wet kiss into the part of her hair and smiled a truly radiant smile at those who continued to wish them well.

Engaged and married off before even she�d even accepted the proposal. Pressed in on all sides as they were, there was no opportunity to pull him away and explain. What could she explain? That she had betrayed his dear friends, that she had not accepted his proposal, that even now he might be danger? How could she explain that? At that moment he was oblivious to any wrongs in the world, he couldn�t even see how terrified she was, so overjoyed he was. Even the Marquise de Saint-Cyr�s hate-filled glances (Marguerite deserved those though probably not for the reason the Marquise gave them) were either unseen or ignore by Marguerite�s fianc�. Fianc�! It was all too much!

It would take an act of desperation to pry them away from the horde or well-wisher, and Marguerite considered the situation fairly desperate at that moment. She staggered ever so slightly, anticipating the fine strong hands that caught ahold of her and steadied her. She resented having to resort to swooning, but it was most effective. Those nearest them uttered their own belief on the cause of it. �Too much excitement - and no wonder, she has caught quite a prize.� Were they all so terribly shallow and narrow-minded that they believed her interest lay in his wallet? But now was not the time to set them right.

�I�ll be alright� I just need some fresh air�� Marguerite said, leaning heavily upon Percy�s arm. It was a convincing performance, if not entirely a performance, so that Sir Percy was able to lead her relatively unimpeded from the room. �There� there is so much I must tell you�� Marguerite whispered when they were away from prying ears. �� I never imagined things would happen this way��