Morning Comes

The next morning, Chauvelin ate a light breakfast with his little treasure, then made sure she was dressed to the nines for the day ahead. She looked like a cherub, with her corn blond hair and big bright blue eyes, dressed in a simple blue frock and a pink sash, matching the bow in her hair, in sharp contrast to his somber but perfectly coifed black apparel, with his perfectly made white cravat being the only break from the dark color scheme. He smiled as he adjusted his hair a bit, at the vision of his darling behind him. She looked just like her mother, a tear almost misted in his eye. How much he adored this girl!

He had decided to take his daughter along to the Blakeneys to get the papers. Fleurette's easy chatter would ease the situation a bit. They took a carriage ride up to Richmond, his sweet child amusing herself with the paper dolls he had purchased for her. Chauvelin spent the ride, reading his papers and telling a story or two to his daughter or listening to her sweet words. When they arrived at the imposing manor, he and his daughter were shown into an exquisite parlor while a footman was to announce to the lady of the house that "His Excellency, the ambassador Armand Chauvelin and daughter wished to call on her." Chauvelin looked around disgusted at the ornate parlor. He too had been born in a house like this, memories of a childhood passing, a well dressed little boy playing soldiers, so long ago. He stiffened and forced the memories away, he'd have to talk to his daughter about the dangers of wealth later, couldn't have corrupting influences in her sweet head. The Pimpernel lived in a house like this, Chauvelin's eyes narrowed, imagining him prancing around, in wealth, planning more interference. Well, it would end...soon. He smiled at his daughter and waited for Margot to come. "Well, we are going to see an old friend of Bibi's. She speaks French so I won't have to translate for you" he said. Whether she was still French or not remained to be seen.

Ann Davis was attending to Marguerite's hair when word arrived that Ambassador Chauvelin and daughter had come to call. She had completely forgotten about the vexing, little Ambassador. Until that moment her thoughts had been on her husband, how reluctant she was to allow him to leave her rooms and how she might best lure him back that evening. She was warming to the idea of Scotland, it would be an opportunity to get her husband alone, away from gossip of the ton, from mistresses who kept him away for months. She watched Davis's reflection, the woman was considerably less surly, though not in the slightest pleased with the new state of affairs -- not that this mattered one jot to Marguerite. The image of that noble savage, half-dressed, hair flowing loosely over those powerful shoulders, power. She was giddy with the memory. Until Chauvelin was announced.

Chauvelin. What a perfect way to spoil such a splendid morning! The smile faded slightly from her lips, what did he want? She reflected a moment... the letters. Easily done, she had them already written, but had yet to send them. She sent word that she would join her guests presently. Marguerite rose and brushed off Davis , making a straight path to her desk, from which she withdrew the promised letters and swept out of the room, nodding to Sanders sprawled in a chair in the hall, looking exceptionally bored. Where was Percy? She wondered as she proceeded downstairs. Was he standing before a mirror perfecting his cravat? or sprawled on his bed attempting to find the rest that she denied him in her room? She smiled at the thought of the latter.

When Marguerite swept into the room, she smiled radiantly, head held high. Even Chauvelin with his veiled threats would find it difficult to dissipate the immense joy that lingered from the previous evening's actives and from that morning. "Bonjour, my dear little Chauvelin! I did not expect that you would call upon me so early," she laughed. "One thing to remember if you plan to call upon the English is that they arise late, and you will not get far if you rouse them before they are ready to do so."

Marguerite's eyes fell upon the lovely vision of little Fleurette and she laughed with delight. "Is this your lovely daughter?" she asked, but the question was not so much directed at Chauvelin, nor did she seem to care if he responded. "What is your name, cherie?" she asked Fleurette.

Chauvelin had been struck by Margot's beauty again. How had he made her feel? Sometimes he hated himself for adoring her! A man should not worship a woman like that, only ideals should be loved like that but she stirred him in his heart, where he had thought Josephine's death had frozen over, leaving only one oasis for Fleurette. He smiled at the picture his daughter and Margot made. Margot doted on his dear daughter, they seemed wonderful. She looked so beautiful and she would be a perfect mother to his treasure. If only it would be true! His face looked less stern and he seemed almost approachable. It seemed so perfect! But she seemed so happy here, he just didn't understand how she could live her, in such decadence. Well, help was on the way. "Why do you think I brought her here? To see the most beautiful sight in all of England, yourself" he said lightly.

Marguerite blushed. Her smile disappeared. Chauvelin was here for more than just letters. It appeared his mind was set on a new mother for his little Fleurette. All of his talk about patriotism and loyalty was no more than an attempt to fill his own bed! She looked back to Fleurette, Chauvelin was using the poor child to gain a mistress. And she had behaved exactly as he had anticipated!

�You flatter me, M. Chauvelin,� Marguerite said, flatly and gave Fleurette a kind smile. �But I fear such praise is highly inappropriate.� Not only was he using his daughter as a pawn, but her brother as well. She remembered how his eyes would follow her around her salons, how he would watch her almost predatory, his attempts to win her favour � brushed off. Armand had wisely warned her about men like Chauvelin. �Politely avoid them!� Chauvelin would not make that an easy feat.

Marguerite let out a little laugh to break the tension that had begun to build. �Sir Percy is home and I do not believe he would be horribly pleased to hear such comments, my dear little Chauvelin.� Marguerite forced the little familiarity out, hoping Chauvelin hadn�t noticed the change in tone. Percy. What would he think if he walked in on this scene? They had only just acquired some sort of peace between them, Chauvelin�s presence might dash it all to pieces!

�Forgive me, but I have forgotten the very reason for your visit!� Marguerite said quickly, she held out the letters that she had been holding in her hands. �These are the introductions that you requested, M. Chauvelin. I hope you will find that they open more doors to you. But I pray you forgive me for concluding our interview so quickly. Sir Percy and I are preparing a trip to Scotland and there is much to do before we depart. I pray you will forgive me, little one,� this she said to Fleurette. �It was truly a pleasure meeting you.�

<Percy>

Was it his imagination, or was Frank looking at him with a peculiar sort of . . . expression? Percy gazed from beneath lowered lids at the reflection of his valet in the dressing table mirror. It wasn't his imagination -- Frank was smirking. Percy closed his eyes completely, enjoying the sensual comfort of having his hair brushed.

"Powder, Frank?" He liked to ask, rather than order, because it gave Frank a chance to chatter and the man so loved to talk.

"Are you riding or receiving, sir?"

"Definitely riding. Probably not receiving," he said. Unless milady wife has other plans...and he grinned wishing he might, for one day of his life, be back in Paris where Marguerite St.-Just had lived in a small apartment with no servants to spy what she and her lover got up to of an afternoon before her matinee. Why was it that sleeping with his wife made him even randier the next day? Perhaps this was why it was often said that the English made the best husbands in all of Europe...or was it the Prussians? Talk of husbands had never interested him before.

"Powder would be pointless then, crushed beneath a hat." Frank was succinct. Percy liked that about him. The man was old, and valet was a position for a younger fellow, yet Percy dreaded the thought of saying goodbye to Frank. He kept him on, kept him busy with brushing coats and reshaping hats, polishing the tops of his fancy walking sticks. He�d put his foot down about having Henshaw polish his boots � Frank�s old back couldn�t take the strain, but Frank was fully occupied replacing buttons daily, checking the whites that came up from the laundry and tsk-tsking over cravats not sufficiently starched to Frank�s lofty ideals.

"I shall have a gray ribbon today," Percy said and waited for Frank�s eyebrows to raise. They did. "I feel in a lightsome mood."

Lightsome. He felt as if he might float out the window. He could hurtle the fence without Sultan. He felt joyous and foolish and tremendously pleased with himself.

Hair perfect, Percy shoved his hat on, scooped his riding crop from the edge of the dresser and exited his chamber. As he reached the top of the stairs, he peeked around towards his wife�s chamber. No one sitting in the chair across from the door � which meant she was somewhere else about the house. Pity; he wished to kiss her goodbye.

"You flatter me, M. Chauvelin,� Marguerite said. �But I fear such praise is highly inappropriate.� Chauvelin's quick ears had heard the slight hold in tone. Marguerite blushed and the charming smile had disappeared. He had just paid her a compliment and she had frozen up on him. This was getting annoying, it was almost like she was happy with that fool of an Englishman here. He was baffled, what had happened to her? He had tried so hard! He had been a devoted slave to her, he had been her greatest fan, he had shared dreams with her and she had sold her birthright for a mess of porridge, the allusion taking back to his own childhood...

Well, no time to reminisce, there was a mystery on hand and he planned to solve it. Margot seemed pensive, something had happened to her. Curiosity filled him, his well trained senses tensed in waiting, he could feel that something had happened. Margot laughed nervously. Chauvelin's eyes grew more narrow. �Sir Percy is home and I do not believe he would be horribly pleased to hear such comments, my dear little Chauvelin.� Ah, that explained it. She had some little lordling to amuse, that's why she was so nervous. She didn't want her darling aristo to see him! Had he beat her into submission? Most likely broke her spirit. Hate choked him. He was sure he could discover more if he tried. �These are the introductions that you requested, M. Chauvelin. I hope you will find that they open more doors to you. But I pray you forgive me for concluding our interview so quickly, Sir Percy and I are preparing a trip to Scotland and there is much to do before we depart. I pray you will forgive me, little one,� this she said to Fleurette. �It was truly a pleasure meeting you.� Chauvelin nodded, trying to delay a bit. "I understand completely and thank you so much. France thanks you. My daughter seems to have taken a shine to you. It's a pity you are leaving so soon, I was hoping you'd be able to show Fleurette around a bit" he said.

Chauvelin had not taken the letters she held out, stalling, for what? "I understand completely and thank you so much. France thanks you. My daughter seems to have taken a shine to you. It's a pity you are leaving so soon, I was hoping you'd be able to show Fleurette around a bit" he said. Marguerite looked down at the wide, blue eyes of Fleurette staring hopefully up at her. It pained her to refuse the child� however time spent with Fleurette was time spent with Chauvelin. A repellant thought! �Forgive me, cherie, but we will be departing soon,� Marguerite apologized, heart breaking at the look of disappointment. �Perhaps, when we�ve returned, I�ll be able to show you around London.�

She held the letters out to Chauvelin again, but he stood there staring at the picture of Marguerite and Fleurette sitting side by side. What bizarre fantasies were going through his mind? Did the letters matter? He was stalling. �Your letters,� she said more insistently. Different tactic. �Do you not trust their content? You may read them if you like.� Go! she wanted to tell him. His stare frightened her, yet she had to continue with this air friendly familiarity for Armand�s sake. But for Armand, she might call Jamieson to physically extract him. She glanced at Fleurette, how could this sweet child be related to Chauvelin?

�You�re Bibi behaves most peculiarly, cherie! Is he always so skittish around letters?�

<Percy>

As Percy made his way downstairs, he heard a sudden shout and a chorus of giggling coming from his wife�s rooms. Obviously, cleaning was underway. He was as guilty as the servants for being unwelcoming; and impulsively he decided to tell Marguerite she must redecorate the rooms in whatever fashion she wished. Women adored spending money on fripperies and draperies � at least that was what he heard from William, Duke of Devonshire, whose wife, it was said, spent more than the Prince of Wales entire income in a year! Not to suggest the prince lived within his means, either. Percy thrust his hands into his pockets. Thus far his wife had been a bargain; it would be interesting to see how much she might spend.

Where was she? Perhaps she was in the music room struggling to play the out-of-tune pianoforte. Or maybe she had gone into the garden to cut the fresh May roses. She might be strolling along the river with the wind blowing the ribbons on her floppy straw hat. He paused half-way down the stairs to gaze at a portrait of his grandmother sitting at virginals, her son, Algernon, glancing over her shoulder. He must have a portrait of his perfect Margot! Yes, a portrait by Cosway would be just the thing.

Behind him three chambermaids loaded with baskets clattered down the stairs. Below him a footman was trimming candles. No one else was in the hall. He looked up and down, then turned the corner to examine the east wing. There was Lovett, hovering just outside the red drawing room. Interesting! Marguerite must be entertaining Maria Fitzherbert, or that radical, Germaine de Stael had driven over from Surrey. Automatically, Percy backed away. The thought of pious Maria or tempestuous Germaine turned him away from any idea of sociability. Imperiously he strode back toward the main door, but his steps slowed as he reconsidered his action.

Changes needed to be made. Allowances. Marguerite had made a number of concessions � so should he. He paused at the end of the long corridor, then turned back toward the drawing room and strode forward at a more sedate pace.

Chauvelin shook his head, he must have been staring again. "So sorry, I was just thinking of Paris when you were there, got lost in thought. Of course, I trust the content, let's see which ones you gave to me. I am sure Fleurette would love to see you when you get back, she doesn't get to go out much" he said taking them in his hand. He had been thinking of the lovely picture she made with his daughter. "Ah, excellent, what excellent work. Armand should be so proud of his sister, the next time I see him, I really must say that with paper, his sister manages to do so much good for France. Really, Margot, you seem so nervous, you act as if you are hiding something, please it is just old friends, well, one old and one new. You'd think you were hiding the Scarlet Pimpernel here from me. Are you all right" he said, feigning concern. "Shall I summon a servant, you look most pale" he asked, his sharp eyes taking everything in. What was she hiding?

Armand again. Armand would forever be a tool used against her so long as he was in France . Chauvelin would maintain his advantage so long as Armand was within his power. If only there were some way of keeping him in England � though likely Armand would never agree. It was only a matter of time before Chauvelin used Armand to demand other services of Marguerite... ferreting out information? Serving as a courrier? Persuading members of Parliament to ignore the atrocities in France, to forego thoughts of war? Or perhaps to warm his bed and play mother to his child? She gave an involuntary shudder as she attempted to decipher his intentions from the expression on his face � it seemed that he wanted something from her beyond what was in France�s best interest. How far would she have to go to preserve Armand�s safety?

�Have no concern for my well-being, M. Chauvelin! If I am suffering from nerves, it is the thought of all that must be done before we can start our trip,� Marguerite said, trying to inject calm into her voice. �Hiding something? The Scarlet Pimpernel?� She laughed. �I thought him merely a rumour or a fanciful conjuration! Do you mean to tell me the fellow exists? And where should I hide such an individual? Amongst my petticoats?� Chauvelin stiffened at her comments, bristled in fact. The matter suddenly seemed less humorous.

�That�s why you�re here, isn�t it? To catch the Scarlet Pimpernel...� she asked.

<Percy>

Lovett sat upright as he saw his master approach. Percy met his eyes, but made no other acknowledgement of the footman�s presence. He turned into the drawing room, taking in the red flocked wallpaper and the silk covered chairs before he noticed the guests. Not Fitzherbert. Not de Stael. It was Chauvelin. The sight drained Percy�s blood - he felt himself stumble. Damn his eyes! The jackal had tracked him to his lair, and, judging by the white rims of Margot's eyes, Chauvelin had been stalking his mate.

"My word; 'tis the last thing I expected to find creepin' about my house." The words were stiff, matching Chauvelin�s fractured English. "Monsieur le Marquis de Chauvelin!" Percy doffed his hat and bowed insultingly low. Then he took in the child, huddled next to his wife on the settle. "And a little junior revolutionary. You are trainin' them up young, what?" Percy�s gaze raked Chauvelin with contempt. "Indoctrinating them straight from the breast, I see."

His long legs carried him to Marguerite, where he whisked her hand out of her lap and kissed the back with seeming gallantry, then he destroyed all semblance of propriety, by keeping her hand firmly in his despite the fact that they weren't alone. Like a sentinel he stood beside Marguerite, where he turned to scrutinize the child. His heart contracted. She had Chauvelin's tiny, serious mouth and square chin; otherwise the fair beauty fairly cried Marguerite Saint-Just in his mind. This child explained a great deal to him about why the reactionary Chauvelin dogged his wife's steps. Somewhere in the past Armand de Chauvelin had wed a fair bride who had given him a pretty child.

"And who are you, Mademoiselle?" Percy demanded of the child. "A tricoteuse in training?" The words were spoken in Percy�s heavy Lyonnaise accent, drawling the vowels. Viciously insulting they were � he saw Chauvelin blanch � and Percy felt a touch of shame. But, only a touch. Chauvelin was after his wife and damnation, no card was too low to throw.

The words he�d heard on entering the drawing room came to his mind: �Where should I hide such an individual...amongst my petticoats?�

"You were discussing the Scarlet Pimpernel when I entered, were you not? Sink me, if that name doesn�t crop up in every other conversation in the city! Tiresome. Most tiresome. They say he is Colonel Beaufort. Some say he is Pitt himself..." Percy�s inane laugh filled the room. "Pitt! Ho-ho, can you imagine? Lord the man couldn�t sail his way out of a bottle!"

He continued to hold Marguerite�s hand, playfully separating her fingers with one of his own while he watched Chauvelin squirm beneath his gaze. "No one suspects it�s really Earl Grey who is the Pimpernel."

Chauvelin�s eyes met Percy�s and locked. "Oh, I�m quite sure," Percy explained. "Grey has a lover in Paris...everyone is talking about it. You know that he�s betrothed, of course and quite desperate to unwind himself of the tangle..." Percy shook his head sadly, allowing Margot�s hand to slip from his into her lap. "I�d wager you�ll find the Scarlet Pimpernel�s cape hanging behind Grey�s closet door."

"But, please, don�t allow us to detain you." The words were directed squarely at Chauvelin. "Lord knows we�ve ever so much to do with shutting up the house and you...why, you must have all of London to crawl in your listen for gossip. Please, feel free to take your leave, sir!"

Chauvelin seemed on the point of admonishing her when Percy entered, an abrupt movement out of the corner of her eye. She smiled to see him, relieved by his presence in that awkward moment, until he spoke in those stiff formal tones she had been accustom to him using until last night. He was curt, deliberately insulting... and Chauvelin was livid. Marguerite gasped when Percy made reference to Fleurette, for fear that he might provoke Chauvelin to action. Chauvelin's fist clenched convulsively, but he took no action. She looked down at Fleurette, puzzled and near tears.

Percy swept across the room to her side, taking her hand, kissing it, then firmly holding onto it. There was no tenderness in this action, no intimacy... Percy was marking his territory. She was his possession and he wanted Chauvelin to know it. A degree of color rose to her cheeks at the thought of being considered a mere object for dispute, but kept her tongue.

"And who are you, Mademoiselle?" Percy turned on the child. "A tricoteuse in training?" More color. Marguerite was shocked to find Percy hurling insults at the innocent girl who seemed on the verge of tears. She patted the girl's knee in consolation, watching Chauvelin stare murderously at Percy. Marguerite wanted to say something, to put a halt to the mounting tension... but to step between them would cost her dearly - her husband and her brother would be put on the line should she interfere. She watched him, silently pleading that he be most careful of Chauvelin... wondering if this moment had destroyed that hopeful sliver of happiness that the morning had promised.

"But, please, don�t allow us to detain you." Percy concluded, after entering his opinion on the identity of Chauvelin's quarry. "Lord knows we�ve ever so much to do with shutting up the house and you...why, you must have all of London to crawl in your listen for gossip. Please, feel free to take your leave, sir!"

She held her breath. Were they in France it was likely that Chauvelin would find some grounds on which to arrest him, or shoot him on the spot. But Chauvelin was silent, his eye filled with malice. Wordless, he crossed the room and collected his daughter, telling her to ignore the cruel words that had been heaped upon her. Marguerite almost pitied them... a father trying to comfort his child, until Chauvelin rallied with words of his own. "...I shall speak slowly so you will grasp my words... surely English chivalry extends to children... you must be quite tired the mind consuming task of choosing your clothes... I suppose, one chooses one's opponent based one's own abilities..."

She continued to watch Percy, trying to decipher his expression. Would he rise to Chauvelin's bait? Perhaps the ambassador was unaware that, though illegal, Englishmen were up to dueling at the drop of a hat. Her attention was brought back to Chauvelin at the mention of her name.

"Margot, thank you so much for your help. You have done a great deal of aid, this information will be invaluable, you are truly France's greatest treasure. I can't thank you enough for these letters" Letters? It took her a moment to recollect that Chauvelin's purpose in coming was to collect the introductions. She gave him a nod in acknowledgement, noting that Percy's eyes were now upon her.

She rose to her feet. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mlle Fleurette," she told the child. "Lovett, I'm sure, will see you out. Good day." She kept her eyes on Fleurette, slightly afraid of what expressions she would find on either of the men's faces.

Chauvelin stiffened visibly at Margot's comments; it was really not a joking matter. Would she joke about famine or plague? He started to make a sharp remark. But then her husband came in. Wonderful, just wonderful. Chauvelin could not deny Sir Percival was handsome, but he could not see anything that would appeal to an intelligent woman besides a pocketbook and arm decoration. Ah yes, Sir Percival Blakeney, idiot extraordinaire, who lived and breathed fashion. He smiled, he could see the nervousness in his face, the feeling of fear, ah; poor anglais had a wild intelligent wife, he was having trouble controlling her. Well, he should have learned not to play with fire, one gets burned. She didn't belong here! How long would it take before she knew that!

"My word; 'tis the last thing I expected to find creepin' about my house." Came the greeting from that inbred guillotine fodder. Creeping? How dare that stupid fop accuse him of that! "Monsieur le Marquis de Chauvelin!" the idiot said, bowing and doffing his hat. Chauvelin's eyes flashed dangerously, his hands trembled with rage. How dare he have the audacity? He had given up that world long ago, he had repented from the sins of his birth, how dare he! In front of his child no less, had this man had any decency. "Sir Percival" he answered. The blaggard's eyes turned on his darling daughter. "And a little junior revolutionary. You are trainin' them up young, what?" Chauvelin longed to pick up the little girl and protect her from such an excuse of a man. Such insolence, such... barbarism on an innocent sweet child. It made him want to leave the bounds of propriety, to fight with his fists as he had done in his youth.

"Indoctrinating them straight from the breast, I see." The fop continued. Chauvelin almost popped a vein, his anger grew so great. Unlike the vain useless spoiled inbred aristo, he supported a child and held a career, by his own making. How dare he criticize him? His lip curled as he watched Percy take his wife's hand, the fool, thinking he could stand watch over his wife and control her, even breaking character, taking her hand was most improper, but that English idiot was trying to assure his masculinity. Chauvelin almost died when that blaggard looked at his daughter. "And who are you, Mademoiselle?" the bastard drawled in his atrocious French to sweet little Fleurette who just looked confused. "A tricoteuse in training?" he demanded. Chauvelin paled, how low could he go? He took a step threateningly forward. To attack a child, his child! He wanted blood! He demanded it! But not in front of the petit, later, he'd have his vengeance.

Sir Percival prattled on childishly, about the Pimpernel; he listened to his chatter, looking at Margot pityingly as if to ask, was this the man he had married? All that about Earl Gray and his betrothed, how did she live with it? ""But, please, don't allow us to detain you." The Bastard finally finished. "Lord knows we've ever so much to do with shutting up the house and you . . . why, you must have all of London to crawl in your listen for gossip. Please, feel free to take your leave, sir!" he ended. Chauvelin had gone to his wide eyed daughter and had picked her up, whispering in French soothing words of comfort. He turned to the tall Englishman. "I shall speak slowly so you will grasp my words. I will thank you, Sir Percy to keep your comments of my daughter to yourself; surely English chivalry extends to children? Well, I suppose you must be forgiven. Surely, you must be quite tired the mind consuming task of choosing your clothes, but please, spare such harsh rude words in the presence of the ladies, we in France may have given up the ideas of nobility of title, but nobility in character is still quite welcome. Well, I suppose, one chooses one's opponent based one's own abilities, a defenseless innocent child seems to be the best you could do. Most low, Sir Percy, most low" he said, stroking the child's hair. He turned to Margot. "Margot, thank you so much for your help. You have done a great deal of aid, this information will be invaluable, you are truly France 's greatest treasure. I can't thank you enough for these letters" he said smiling.

<Percy>

Percy realized he was letting his jealousy overwhelm his caution. Absently he tapped his knee with his riding crop. That Chauvelin was on the trail of the scarlet pimpernel he knew, of course, but that Marguerite was his accomplice in his search was a new wrinkle in the fabric. Percy�s breathing quickened . . . the secret he'd ever meant to share, save that the timing had never been right. Oh, bitter! The woman who held his heart in her grasp also held his life in the secret.

He glanced again at Chauvelin and his eyes narrowed with dislike. Unless he missed his guess, Marguerite looked rather more frightened than enamoured of the man. Perhaps she was not meeting him for afternoons of hard loving, but for some French arm-twisting instead...she with her republican sympathies. What sort of secret might Chauvelin know from their past that could harm her today? Lord, it could be anything! Had she not introduced him to Robespierre the first time he visited her salon? She�d travelled high in Paris, known luminaries from both sides of politics.

What was this? Chauvelin had picked up the child, murmuring protectively.

"I shall speak slowly..." he began with glaring eyes. "...surely English chivalry extends to children?"

Bullseye shot! Percy worked to keep his expression bland, covering his triumph. Ahh, this child was Chauvelin�s weakness. Pray, where was the lass�s mother? Not in England, that was for certain. The child. Chauvelin could be controlled through the child.

Impulsively, Percy dropped Margerite's hand and clutched for the hilt of his sword. Of all the insolent, wicked...Percy was without his sword. He was armed with nothing save a riding crop.

"Well, I suppose you must be forgiven. Surely, you must be quite tired"

He held himself still, absorbing Chauvelin�s vitriol, ". . . the mind consuming task of choosing your clothes...but nobility in character is still quite welcome." Fascinating the points he chose to hurl back at Percy. That his foppish clothes annoyed the man he well knew, but this thing about nobility of character? Percy blinked. Truly fascinating!

He stood impatiently as Chauvelin spouted more venom in defense of his child. Enough railery!

Suddenly alert, Percy stiffened. What was this? "Margot, thank you so much for your help." Percy�s mouth dropped open in surprise. What effrontery was this. His hand tightened on the crop.

"You mannerless clod! Who are you to address my wife by her familiar name?" He took a menacing step toward Chauvelin and waved the crop threateningly. Chauvelin, in full spate had continued ranting, "You have done a great deal of aid, this information will be invaluable, you are truly France's greatest treasure. I can't thank you enough for these letters."

Letters? Percy whirled back to face Marguerite. "Letters?" he asked in a tone that bleached the colour from her face. "What manner of letters would..." France �s greatest treasure. A trickle of cold sweat slithered down Percy�s spine. Oh, it was all much worse than he�d imagined!

Chauvelin had not been cowed by Sir Percy's threats, or his waving of a riding crop, to try and show he had any semblance of manhood. He knew Margot understood her brother's safety depended on his own and he doubted Percy would have the audacity to strike a man carrying a child, though of course, he'd never allow Fleurette to be put in danger like that. He smoothed the girl's blond curls. "Bibi won't let that man hurt you, don't worry, everything is fine" he whispered. "Well, as your home seems to be so welcoming, Fleurette and I will take our leave. If you ever need us, we are staying in London. Remember, we are always here for you, if you wish to practice your French. I know Fleurette can't wait to see you again. It's been a pleasure seeing you again, after you return from Scotland, we must do this again. Adieu, Citoyenne and I'll give your regards to your family, I am sure Antoine will adore hearing from you" he said as he turned to leave.

�Letters?� The blood drained from Marguerite�s face. The last time Percy had used that tone was that moment in the garden, when he told her he was wrong to marry her. She saw a small smile appear on Chauvelin�s lips, he knew he struck deep.

�Yes, darling. I told you about them last night,� she said, trying to keep her voice smooth and calm as she turned to face him. �M. Chauvelin asked me for some letters of introduction the other day, he came today to collect them.� She nearly cried out when he saw the expression of pain and distrust in his eyes. She implored him with her eyes to have faith in her, how could he understand the terrible weapon that Chauvelin held over her.

�Adieu, Citoyenne and I'll give your regards to your family...� One last slap in the face. Poor Armand, an unwitting pawn. If not for him she might tear that crop from Percy�s grip and strike Chauvelin down with it. He had acted deliberately. Had been aware of their strained marriage? He had struck with deadly accuracy.

She listened as Chauvelin left, heard the chair outside shift as Lovett stood to meet them, then footsteps slowly fading away. �Percy, I�� She wanted to him that Armand�s life was at stake, only for that reason would she agree to help Chauvelin with anything, but the words died on her lips. She had unintentionally injured him. �I�m sorry...� she finally whispered and wrapped her arms around him, hoping to heal the injury.

Chauvelin was helping dress Fleurette and listening to every word in the hall. "Shhh, Margot has a big problem, she has to stay with a very mean man. You see how mean he is? Bibi is trying to help her so she can go home to France " he whispered to her, holding off the servants who were trying to spare their master from being shamed. "Just helping my darling flower dress up" he said.

<Percy>

"I accept that you did not come new out of the box the day I married you; I understand that you have a past and a life I�d prefer not to know about, but why did you marry me � knowing you would leave France � if you wished to further the revolution? You will get us both hanged for treason, Marguerite! No one in this country will even try to see your side!" Percy paced angrily before her. His voice boomed and he didn�t care who heard him.

"The only reason England is not at war with France already is because Pitt refuses to sign the orders. Everyone demands action, everyone! The fact that you are French is discomfort enough; don�t you see the need for discretion?"

Percy slowed, tossed his crop onto a small table and stared at his wife in exasperation. "Allow me to paint you a picture, my dear. The conversation we had last night about gossip � d�you remember me telling you that Pitt warned me you are a known spy for France? First Minister in the government, Margot! Have you forgotten that Pitt is Lord Grenville�s brother-in-law? You�ve drawn the attention of the First Minister and the Foreign Minister. You are being watched. Even now they could be putting the signature on a deportation order and there would be nothing I could do to stop them!"

The picture was clearer than the one which Percy�s words painted... the footmen at the door... the change in her apartments... Did Pitt ask him to watch her or was he protecting his own interests? Was the intimacy a distraction so she wouldn�t ask questions? Or did Percy wish to sample what he thought she was giving to others? �I understand your words now�and you were right. You shouldn�t have married me. � She swallowed. Her throat felt dry and her voice was not her own. She wanted to tell Percy. Perhaps he could convince Armand to come to England and stay�or he would know the length to which she would travel to protect dear Armand and stop her. She couldn�t afford to be stopped.

�You have never had a brother, so I can�t imagine you would understand. But I will endeavour to draw it out for you in simple words so that it might penetrate your thick head.� She folded her arms to hide the fact that her hands were shaking. �I love my brother. For so long he was the only person I had in the world to turn to... He cared for me and protected me... you probably can�t even conceive of what we�ve been through together. I do what is necessary to protect him.� Percy appeared as though he would speak, but she continued on.

�If you are to hurl my ideals in my face, then condemn me for those which are mine. I grant it may be confusing for a man whose highest ideals are his wardrobe and winning the popularity of the ton, but there is a difference between that which I fight for and the all too apparent reality. I believe that men should be judged by this...� she placed her palm over Percy�s heart. �...not this...� with that same hand she made a sweeping gesture of the room. �Heart, not birth. Equality where actions were the means of measure, not fortune.� Certainly he couldn�t think she advocated murder... but it was so difficult to determine what Percy was thinking these days. She turned away from him, that look of betrayal cut into her heart... and she didn�t want to see his reaction to her next words. She crossed the room to look out the window, watching Chauvelin�s coach depart.

�Did you think sweet words would mask the fact that you have turned yourself into my jailer? You�re right. You shouldn�t have married me. Your French whore of a wife has compromised the safety of your neck. Do what you must, I certainly will.�

<Percy>

The wildcat faced him squarely and he stilled beneath her gaze as she tossed one barbed comment after another at him like an acrobat tossing knives. It was true that Percy couldn�t understand the love she bore her brother. He�d been responsible for dogs and horses as a boy. Of course he couldn�t tell her what he understood about love and obligation now, how it applied to himself as leader of a band of dare-devil heroes who did his bidding.

He stiffened after each of her recriminations as he had when she�d slapped his face. Marguerite had caught him napping! Abandoning her to whatever pursuits she saw fit to follow had been his gravest error! She had never been one to compromise � never. In a world where women dealt with compromise all the time, this fact had intrigued him. Mademoiselle Saint-Just was no star-gazer; she did what she wished. Demanding. Commanding. In Paris she had balanced respect with notoriety. It was no surprise that she had been admired by men and women both.

Perhaps he should get on his knees before her and beg her forgiveness � he, the cuckolded husband. She did have him by the ears, by god so she did. For all that he should have listened to Tony for once in his life and not married her � it was done now, and he was glad of it. Regardless of her penchant for stamping on his heart, he couldn�t bear the thought of setting her free. His heart twisted with the thought of her writhing in pleasure beneath that scraggy scut Chauvelin. That the man dared present his worm-ridden countenance at Percy�s own door was beyond enduring! Had Marguerite dared entertain him upstairs in the bed that had belonged . . . no! That was too vile a thought to bear consideration. Every footman in the house would have found some way to tell him if she�d dared such a thing.

Marguerite�s expressive mouth was set into a thin line of determination, her eyes darkened to midnight blue. Although the top of her head did not reach his chin, he feared her will may be stronger than his. Not that he wasn�t stubborn, too, but at this moment she felt she had more to lose and Percy understood well the strength a cornered enemy could bring to bear when life meant everything. She would do what she must and he was not surprised to hear her say it. He felt only remorse for having been left so far behind, a bobbing cork in her wake.

�It is true, my love, that I have become your jailer. I recognize your need to do whatever you think needful; but I can�t comprehend why you are so agitated about Armand. He will be shown all respect when he is here � do you suppose I would refuse him the house?�

Marguerite kept her back to Percy, facing the window. She watched the retreating coach while, listening to every breath, every moment that Percy made behind her. She had to hold fast, Percy had already proven how easily he could sway her when she showed weakness. �It is true, my love, that I have become your jailer.� A stabbing pain shot through her heart. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She had fooled herself into believing that light in his eyes was love for her. It had been effective. She had opened up � blinded herself with her love. �My love�� why did he insist on using that false term of endearment? Did he use it with all his lovers? This morning she might have sworn he loved only her... �My love�. How she had cherished those words on his lips! Were they all lies? And just now with Chauvelin... he had defended her as he would his horse or his house � property.

And Armand... dear, unsuspecting Armand! How could Percy not understand the bitter anxiety that she experienced with every day that Armand remained in France . If the Republic could butcher children without qualm, little would stand in their way should they determine her brother a liability to the cause. Chauvelin would make him a liability if need be. What did it matter if Percy refused his house if the Republic refused him his life? �I thank you, Sir Percy.� She said stiffly. �I am certain Armand will appreciate your hospitality.� Did he truly expect to mend this shattered marriage or... was it Chauvelin? They had been married for months and Percy continued to seem more aloof and withdrawn, his travels more extended until the whisper of Chauvelin entered into his ear. She could just imagine Pitt consulting Percy, �Control that little chit or it�ll be your neck beside hers.�

When she opened her eyes again the coach was out of sight. She turned to face him. He had been watching her � his impression was difficult to read. She was seized with the desire to run and fall at his feet and beg him to be the man in whose arms she had awoken. She blinked. She had to show strength. �I fear I have delayed your departure. Do not let me keep you.� She turned back to the window lest emotion overwhelm her. She had to be strong... even as her resolve was crumbling. Had to. At least until Armand arrived. She would beg him to stay, anything but go back. Then... then she could try to salvage this marriage, if Percy would have it. She would find some way to make it right.

<Percy>

She had side-stepped his question as she so often did. How often in Paris had he sat at her feet listening to the mash of opinions, arguments and counter-arguments, feeling overwhelmed by the words, words, words? He�d been unable to take them all in, but the gist of it all was injustice, bitterness and a need for revenge. He�d been the least surprised of everyone on earth when the revolution had turned into bloody revenge against the aristocracy. The only surprise had been that he�d been allowed to sit at Marguerite�s feet and eavesdrop. When they were alone, he�d tried to question her and while she spoke with passion for her cause, she�d told him nothing. Ever adroit, she side-stepped. He�d taken her lack of a firm reply as proof she was not committed to the revolution � and awakened in the arms of a murderess. At that moment he should have understood that she was cunning; instead he�d shuddered at the blood on her hands and avoided thinking about how it had got there. Was it too late to start thinking?

She was pushing him away, eager to begin plotting. Perversely, he wished that he might stay and force her into a waiting game, but he needed to see Grenville before the House sat this afternoon. Having no seat of his own, he couldn�t approach the man while in parliament and whisper in his ear.

Percy swept to Marguerite�s side, picked up her hand and kissed it. "I�m sorry that I must leave you to your own amusements today." He infused the words with all the contrition he felt. Despite the passion they�d shared in the night, this day was as dicy as every other as he faced his wife�s razor-sharp tongue. She was of tempestuous temper, a woman in great need of hard loving and above all it must be only he who gave it to her. He sensed the error of leaving her today of all days. Sensed it and was powerless to heed the warning. He caressed her little hand it with his thumb.

"Perhaps it�s too much to expect you to trust me when I say that the streets are not safe for you at this moment. I fear � I see � after Chauvelin�s visit that you are pulled in two directions. Nevertheless, I have given orders that you are not to leave the house..."

Marguerite�s eyes flamed at that and she ripped her hand out of his. "...for your protection! Damnation, Margot! I don�t want to see you hurt. Send for your friends to visit you here where I have men enough to ensure your safety. Send for every shopkeeper in London and spend 10,000 pounds if it will give you satisfaction, but I beg you, listen to reason. You must not leave this house!"

He knew her well. Knew that he could press his advantage by maintaining close proximity. He was at her side, kissing her hand stroking it... �I fear � I see � after Chauvelin�s visit that you are pulled in two directions. Nevertheless, I have given orders that you are not to leave the house. . ." She pulled away forcefully, her cheek flushed with anger. He treated her like a child, like some object that was his to use and ignore. And the lie again. ". . . for your protection! Damnation, Margot! I don�t want to see you hurt. Send for your friends to visit you here where I have men enough to ensure your safety.� She had believed him for a brief moment last night, when she had been inspired to terror that her husband�s activities outside her door were malcontents there to do her harm. In fact it was only Percy, half-dressed... and expecting to gain admittance to his wife�s bed. He had been trying all night... in the library, in the garden. It was fear that sent her fleeing into his arms � now he wished to use it to make her a prisoner.

�Is it me or yourself that you are protecting?� she said bitter as she walked away him and dropped onto the settle. �The only protection I need is from you.� She folded her arm as she reconstructed the picture from the previous night. He heaped insults upon between attempts to lay her and she continuously caved in, even taking to pursuing him at some point in an attempt. He rebuffed her. It had to be on his conditions. �You wish to keep me tethered and complacent like one of your horses or dogs! At least they are given some dignity in this house! Keep your money and go use it to buy another bitch for your kennel! Now I pray you go. This interview has taxed me beyond reason.�

<Percy>

Percy watched Marguerite take a position on the sofa like a guard watching a prison cell, her shoulders squared, her gaze direct. Me or yourself, she taunted, lashing out at him again. �The only protection I need is from you.�

"Indeed," he mouthed. So changeable she was; as unpredictable as the Carte Anglaise called against a hand of faro. Playing at faro was all luck and Percy never sensed when he�d played too long. Whatever protection he may have purchased, it had just cost him all last night�s sweetness. Marguerite�s bitterness chilled him until he felt nothing. Her affection for him was gone. Ever fickle, it stunned him how quickly she changed.

Percy wheeled around toward the door, his coat tails whipping behind him. His boot heels echoed against the high ceiling like pistol shots. Outside the door he paused to confer with Lovett before departing for the city. Percy worried his lower lip as he swung into the saddle. Unfair it was. He had all the ammunition on his side; servants enough to cage six lionesses and enough hired men to withstand a medieval siege. Marguerite had no idea what she was pitting herself against. God, he hoped in her anger that she would not hurt herself.

Rather than ride toward the gate, Percy hunched low in the saddle and aimed Sultan toward the hedge. "Come on! Come on, come on!" The maniac stunt and the exhilarating speed did little toward cooling his blood.

Marguerite wiped her cheek when Percy left. She didn�t know whom she was angrier with Percy, for being so manipulative and cruel... or herself, for being so blind? She was coming to the opinion that her husband was two distinctly different men... the calculating, manipulative tool of society that had just left her � for she was no longer under the illusion that Percy was as idiotic as he was wont to behave before the ton � and that passionate lover whom she loved despite the fact that he seemed inseparably linked to that other odious personality... The latter she wanted to keep in her arm forever, the former inspired the desire to throw something. If only she could separate the two and keep that one she loved.

Love. That word came up again, an emotion she was unaware of until it was forced out into the open in the heat of an argument where she too was surprised at its existence. How could she lose her heart to such a man? Apparently she was the bigger fool in this marriage. She still loved him. Clung to a sweet memory of being in his arms. Yet she managed to suppress the desire to chase after him and demand for her lover�s return. Was it love? She tried to rationalize the emotions away. It was fear... loneliness... she was caught up in the moment... but even those excuses seemed hollow. How could she lose her heart to such a man? She was caught up in the moment she decided. She could make herself believe that.

What angered her more was the thought of being trapped, a pet to be tended until her master�s return. He did have a distinct advantage over her. It was his property, the servants were not only loyal to him but they hated her. She had few acquaintances in England, but no one to intervene on her behalf... she might have to wait for Armand to arrive before she could hope to escape, if in fact she wanted to do that. No, that wouldn�t do. She refused to believe that she had no escape � what if Percy became violent? He hadn�t yet, but it was within his rights beat her bloody and that was something she would not allow.

She stood abruptly and left the room; Lovett dogged her steps as she went and collect a shawl then proceeded out into the garden. It was here under the chestnut tree that he gave her his coat. �God, how I love you!� He had told her, the memory of it caused her heart to miss a beat. She had spoke to him of the stars, she remembered as she followed the path of the evening. She stopped in the place where they kissed... ah, that kiss! That kiss could have brought stone to life. It was here too that he had said those words that chilled the blood in her veins... �I suddenly realized how wrong I was to have married you." She had been haunted by those words ever since.

She stood there a few moments more, trying to get those emotions under control. Enough of that, she told herself, to work. She continued to walk in a straight path until she reached the river followed the river until Lovett was obliged to rein her in. Had he given orders to drag her back kicking and screaming should she wander too far off? She walked noting the boundaries of her prison, keeping keen eyes open for the presence of her jailers. He had the advantage that was certain. She walked until she was too weary to go on, she rested under a tree for a few moments and took in her surroundings, breath-taken they were. Inspiring. Very inspiring. A thought, just a thought. A hole in Percy�s tightly run ship, but it could only be pulled off once after that he would be prepared. She laughed out loud. If need be she�d use it.