The girl's mind filled with dread as she entered the temporary du Tournai home in London. She had been so pleased to be able to help her friend escape to find her brother. Few had ever asked her for help before. It had always been the shy little Suzanne who found herself timidly requesting assistance with just about everything. Marguerite Saint-Just was the only friend she knew. The Lady Blakeney had allowed her to feel like she could do anything. Suzanne had even begun to leave the house without escort of any kind to see her friend. She had to. Since that debaucle in London so long ago, any servant or relative accompanying her would have reported her meeting with the actress to her mother straight away. The countess would have been livid. Suzanne bit her lip as her shoes loudly announced her presence in the empty foyer. She rushed to the stairs, hoping to reach her rooms before anyone had noticed she had been gone all afternoon.

Suzanne du Tournai had watched Marguerite leave from the window of Blakeney Manor's parlour. Nobody would have guessed that the lady climbing into the coach was not Suzanne. Marguerite had been very explicit in her instructions. Under that floppy hat, and in those dresses, an identical shade of blue, they looked the same, save for Suzanne being a smidge taller, the former actress's curves were more obvious, and the color of the hair, of course, but nobody paid any heed to those small details. Suzanne had held her breath until the carriage was gone, expecting something awful to happen. When the Blakeney's horrible governess-like maid entered the room, Suzanne had almost screamed. She kept her composure, however, and a carriage was called to send her on her way. Oh, the sour faces that refused to look at her as she walked out of the manor. She didn't know whether to laugh with glee that Marguerite's plan was such a success, or weep in sympathy for what she imagined awaited those left in charge of keeping an eye on Blakeney's wife.

Watching Richmond get smaller in the distance, this grand sense of dread for Marguerite had filled the girl. The presence of that Spanish woman had stolen her words straight out of her brain. When she arrived, she had so many things to tell her friend. Most important would be the identity of the Pimpernel. It would explain so many things, and likely put Marguerite's mind to rest on so many counts. Then again, she might be even more scared, not only for her brother, but also her husband. What if she lost both? Would it have stopped her from trying to rescue the young Armand? Suzanne shook her blond curls. It did not matter now. She had been barely able to recall her own name when confronted with the Marquise de Fountenay. The woman had been needling Marguerite until she was out the door. Lady Blakeney herself seemed a bit confused by the visit. Suzanne had been so taken aback that her memory failed completely, and all she'd been able to do was listen. She had expected to have a quiet moment with Marguerite to tell her...an uninvited blush heated her cheeks...of Sir Andrew.

A dreamy sigh escaped her, and a silly smile settled on her cherry lips as she opened the door to her rooms. "There you are!" Her mother's words drained all color from Suzanne's face, sending that pleased expression quickly into oblivion. "Close the door, Suzanne." The Countess's tone was anything but inviting. "We need to have a little chat about that maid of yours. She disappeared this afternoon without so much as a by your leave." The girl quietly closed the door, chewing on her lip to keep from laughing aloud at her luck that the subject was to be Madeleine, and not her own disappearance. She turned back to her chagrined parent with the appropriate look of concern.

She had quite gotten away with her little adventure. After sending Marguerite's messages on their way, Suzanne was quite pleased with her accomplishments as an actress. Her mother had ranted on about Madeleine's sudden disappearance, and not even guessed that her daughter had been plotting to help Lady Blakeney. The girl did feel responsible for the trouble the maid now found herself in, but she promised herself, she would deal with that later.

Suzanne had spent all day completely avoiding what plagued to be on her mind since last night. Finally alone, she girl doffed her light wrapper, and tested the water of the bath that had been readied for her. Smiling to herself, she slid into the tub. The fire in the hearth kept the water nice and warm. She took up the rose-scented soap and began to work it into her hair.

The long, silky tresses gleamed golden in the light of the fire. Rinsing out the curly mass and letting go of another deep sigh, she sank further into the water. The scent of roses flirted with her nose as she breathed deep, closing her eyes.

Andrew. Until last night she knew the man only as Monsieur Ffoulkes. Andrew. What a wonderful name. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes. 'Will you wait for me?' Suzanne hadn't a clue at that moment of the meaning of the words, for she was mesmerized by those glittering blue eyes. The girl thought they might bore straight into her soul, and read what she knew must be etched on her very spirit...to be his, and his alone.

'May I kiss you?' Propriety demanded she slap his lips straight off of his face just for asking such a thing.

Suzanne's fingers lightly traced her mouth remembering her reward for keeping silent. A happy giggle escaped her, startling the girl out of her musings for a moment. She bit her lip, looking around, knowing full well that she was alone, enjoying the heat of her nightly bath, but feeling as though someone was watching her all the same. If her mother could read her thoughts, she'd be banished to a nunnery without a chance of rescue. Her hand met her throat. No. Monsieur Ffoulkes, nay Andrew would rescue me, she thought with a dreamy sigh, relaxing once again. Her throat repeated that little noise she had made when the gentleman's hands had wandered a bit, prompting Suzanne to remember her conduct that night. With a dismayed frown, a disturbing thought entered her mind. What if he thinks me wanton? He had disappeared rather quickly after that kiss...

'Will you wait for me?' Said with such yearning, his eyes declaring his heart's wish before he ever uttered the words 'I love you.' The memory put her mind at ease. She would wait, she silently promised. Had she found her voice, he would have known her answer. The tip of her tongue involuntarily darted across her lips as she envisioned the taste of his. His scent still lingering in her nose, she blushed at the realization of how much she longed to repeat the experience. None but the perfect Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Baronet would do.

"I will wait, Andrew," she whispered to herself. "until the end of time..."

The following days were spent with lazy embroidery, and thoughts of the most perfect man. Sir Andrew. Whenever the name appeared in her mind, which was more often than not, Suzanne could not keep the silly smile off her face, no matter how hard she tried. It wasn't long before her maid was needling her for the name of the man responsible for that day-dreamer's _expression that so often graced her features. Even her parents were beginning to notice a change in their only daughter.

Suzanne was thusly engrossed in thought, her face hidden behind a book of prose when her mother addressed her, startling the girl out of her less than lady-like musings. They were to go shopping.

The young mademoiselle was to make an appearance at another party. Apparently she had made quite a splash at Shipwash's soiree. The countess was quite pleasantly surprised, for she had been worried what sort of impression her shy violet of a daughter would make in society, especially with that actress about. Suzanne's beauty, however, seemed to have made her silence negligible, perhaps even more appealing to a few young gentlemen. Her mother had been quite worried about her standing when she spied the girl dancing with that Ffoulkes. The man was naught but a baronet, so very beneath Suzanne's station, and one of ill repute, at that. Thank goodness that didn't seem to have made too badly an impact on her debut, however, for just that afternoon, the countess had it on very good authority that an eligible Duke, and even an Earl had made inquiries after her little Suzanne.

"Imagine, darling, you could marry an earl!" Now it was her mother's turn to daydream, and display bouts of wistful sighing.

Suzanne, however, was not nearly as excited about this news as her mother obviously expected her to be. "Fancy that." She agreed haphazardly. Oh, how she wished Andrew were there to whisk her away in his strong arms...

"We shall have to go shopping for a new dress, dear," The countess interrupted her wayward thoughts, grasping her hand, and giving it a squeeze. She finally noticed her daughter's less than enthusiastic look. "Not to worry, sweetheart," She gently nudged her child's chin up to look at her. "You will be glorious." The countess smiled. "You'll steal their hearts away with your lovely countenance, and then the only agony will be having patience while Papa chooses the right man for you." Her hand returned a stray curl to Suzanne's otherwise perfectly arranged hair. "Then you'll only have to say 'I do', and it won't matter if you never speak again."

Her mother's 'soothing' had always incited a feeling of absolute inadequacy. Usually the countess's words made her daughter want to sink into the very earth in shame. The last encounter with the ever galant Sir Andrew had awakened a seemingly dormant rebellious strain in Suzanne, making it quite difficult for her to give her mother the usual meek and obedient smile instead of biting her fingers straight off of her hand. '...while Papa chooses the right man for you'. Sacrebleu! She would pray that he took long enough for Sir Andrew to return, else she might have to marry another, and perish. She waited for her mother to leave the room before tossing her book across the room in an unusual fit of temper. A loud clattering ensued when she hit her target.

Startled at her own actions, she gasped, and quickly picked up the bowl of potpourri the piece of literature had knocked from its perch on a small table, returning it, complete with scattered contents. Suzanne rushed to her rooms, confusion teasing her brain. Something had changed within her at the heated attentions of the baronet. Every day that passed since he touched her so intimately, the young woman was less confident she knew who she was anymore. She was, however, sure of how to become whole again. Only Sir Andrew Ffoulkes could complete Suzanne, of that she was certain.

Her mother was unbearable. The woman refused to quit chattering about how wonderful it would be if the girl were to be married to this duke, or that earl, imagining how the matches would work out to her own social benefit. Her daughter, she would brag, had made a good match, wedding someone above her own station, elevating herself in life, demonstrating how perfect a mother she was.

"Mama.." Suzanne started hesitantly into just such a long-winded, one-sided speech. They were climbing the steps to yet another party, at some prominent social figure's manor. Suzanne had attended four such events in the past three nights. By this time she no longer remembered with whom she was dancing, much less the name of their ever-changing hosts. She would have been quite embarrassed at any faux pas, should she slip in conversation, but being the quiet little mouse her mother had come to expect her to be, the girl did not have to utter a word beyond "enchantez."

The countess did not pay any heed, dragging the girl along behind her. The young du Tournai had been battling her growing temper at the elder's behaviour since she had declared a shopping day. It wasn't that the girl minded new clothes, much to the contrary, she quite enjoyed her beautiful new gowns, but the fact that her parent seemed bent on shopping for a husband that rubbed against a grain Suzanne had only recently discovered she even possessed. "Mama?"

In the foyer, she went on "His grace would be a brilliant match for you, dear. He's a widower, always out of the country, already has a son, and almost distastefully rich. You'd never even have to look at him after the ceremony." She chittered at her own wit.

Suzanne rolled her eyes. Before they could be announced, the girl finally felt her patience snap. Without a second thought, she dug in her heels, forcing her mother to a stop. "Mama!" The lady turned an astonished look on her, halting in her progress across the thankfully empty foyer. Her expression was almost comical, as though she had heard her child's voice for the first time in the seventeen years she'd been alive. Suzanne nearly lost her nerve.

"Are you alright, dear?" The elder asked, making Suzanne wonder if there was a caring bone in the woman's body after all. "Only it won't do at all if you're ill to meet my future son-in-law. He might be worried that his heirs wouldn't survive, if his future wife were sickly. I'd never see any grandchildren." Of course the concern in her eyes was not for her daughter. What could she possibly have been thinking getting her hopes up like that? Suzanne chided herself. Now her mother went on about children who weren't even born yet, completely ignoring the one standing but two feet in front of her.

"No, mama."

"What ever is the matter dear? You're making us more late than fashionable. It really isn't seemly to be loitering in the foyer like this." She scolded.

"I don't feel well, mama, I'm tired. I would prefer to go home, please." Perhaps the woman's concern for yet unconceived future generations would excuse Suzanne for one night. If only Andrew returned soon...