Hello hello, friends! Look, I've started something new. Alright, here's what I've got for you. This is the sequel to my other story, Falcon in the Dive. If you haven't read that, I don't think you're going to get this at all, so I highly suggest that you go back and read that before reading this. Don't worry. I've been told that it's somewhat good. So, this is going to follow the life of Lucian Blakeney, the illigitimate son of Chauvelin that Percy so kindly raised. If you don't like anything that has to do with Chauvelin Marguerite romance of any sort, I suggest that you leave. Chauvelin's not actually in this one, but it's suggested. Anyway, this is shaping up to be quite the adventure. Hope you enjoy reading.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Scarlet Pimpernel. HOWEVER! I DO own Lucian, and the rest of the second generation. GO ME!
Soon the Moon Will Smoulder
Chapter 1: Lucian
Europe: 1801
The Scarlet Pimpernel raced through the French countryside with the daughter of the now deceased King of France. They had lost the revolutionaries a little while back and they had nearly arrived at the ship that would take them to safety.
Yet something did not feel right to the Pimpernel. His sharp blue eyes darted around, searching desperately for the man he knew sat waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Just as he urged the girl into a hiding spot among some bushes at the side of the road, a figure clad in black wielding a sword jumped out of nowhere and tackled the Pimpernel to the ground.
The Pimpernel tried desperately to push the man off of him, but he was not nearly as strong as his attacker. Placing the blade of the weapon against his exposed throat, the man leaned in close an in a cold, even voice whispered, "Game over, Pimpernel."
"Boys! What in blazes are you doing?" Sir Percy Blakeney asked the small group of children who were running about the gardens of Blakeney Manor.
"Playing a game." the two boys on the ground responded simultaneously.
"Ah. I see. And what game was that again? And Lucian, do put that stick down."
"We were playing the Scarlet Pimpernel, father!" the boy on the ground responded as his brother got off of him and threw his stick to the ground.
Percy couldn't help grinning like an idiot. "Oh? And who were you, son?"
"I was the Pimpernel!" the child shouted triumphantly.
"Yes, and you thoroughly lost, Blake." his brother Lucian said in his quiet, even voice.
Blake stomped his foot on the ground and exasperatedly cried "You don't play fair, Lucian! I'm supposed to win all the time!"
Lucian smiled slyly, his golden eyes narrowing in bored amusement. "Oh? And how do you figure?"
"Because I'm the Pimpernel!" he cried, his deep blue eyes filling with frustration.
"So you were the French, Lucian?" Percy asked quietly. Lucian didn't even look in his father's direction, but nodded slightly in acknowledgement.
"I was the princess of France, Papa!" a young girl cried joyfully as she ran out of the bushes and wrapped her arms around Percy's leg, small twigs sticking out of her neatly combed strawberry blonde hair.
"Oh, were you now, Helouise?"
The little girl looked up at her father with his light blue eyes and smiled happily. "Yes, Papa! We lost!"
Percy shrugged slightly, chuckling slightly at his daughter's utter joy at being on the losing end. "Ah, well. Better luck next time, eh what? Come now, children. Your uncle Armand is here and your mother wants you all to eat something."
Blake and Helouise lit up at the mention of their uncle and rushed off toward the mansion. When their father said that someone was over, that usually meant that there were several people within the house. And that meant more children. Things couldn't possibly be better.
Lucian sighed heavily and looked blankly at the ground. It wasn't that he disliked his uncle in particular; it was more of an utter loathing of people in general. Not that he despised everyone, mind you; he quite liked his sister and his mother, and his brother and father were sometimes tolerable. Everyone else in the world was insufferable.
Percy looked down at the golden haired boy in his apparent frustration. "What's wrong, Lucian?" Percy asked gently as he knelt in front of the boy, tilting his head up so he could look into the child's falcon-like eyes.
"Father, must I socialize?" Lucian asked his father, his wide eyes pleading for a negative answer.
Percy couldn't help but laugh at the boy's uncongenially; so different from his other children. This, of course, was to be expected, for Percy was not Lucian's father. The young golden boy was the love child of Marguerite and Agent Armand Chauvelin, and Chauvelin, as he remembered, had the same misanthropic quality as his son. Little Lucian naturally had no inkling to his lineage; no one did, for Percy had raised the illegitimate child as his own.
Percy smiled at the beautiful child before him and gently said, "How about I make you a deal, son?" Percy's smile broadened as the young boy held his breath and gave his father his full attention, clear gold eyes filled with hope. "Get up to your room without any of our guests seeing you, and I'll tell your mother that I couldn't find you."
Lucian stared at Percy in astonishment for a few moments before his mouth spread into one of his rare but utterly charming smiles and he threw his arms around his father's neck. "I cannot possibly thank you enough, father!" he cried happily.
"But if you are seen, you must promise to be at least somewhat social." Percy said sternly as he stood up.
Lucian's elated smile became cunning as he laid his right hand over his heart and raised the other in the air. "You have my word."
"Very good!" Percy said in his inane drawl. "Off with you now, boy. Let's see what you can do."
Lucian flashed an intelligent, devious look at Percy before he silently ran down to the house.
Lucian Blakeney was a perfect blend of his mother and father. Both parents were extremely good looking, and the young boy happened to inherit the best features of each, making him stunningly beautiful, even at the tender age of eight. What made the boy so striking was his remarkable likeness to his mother; long, slender limbs with smooth, even features, and his thick, golden hair and his father's pale, yellow eyes gave the child such a radiance that he quickly became the envy of many men and all women in the court of England.
Lucian was also gifted enough to acquire the intelligence of his parents; sublime wit from his mother, and the salient genius of his father. Though the boy was reclusive to the extreme, his very presence turned heads and attracted the attention of all those around him, and people instantly flocked to his side, despite his deliberate attempts to remain secluded.
Young Lucian spoke very little, but when he did, his voice was quiet, calm, and smooth, nearly hypnotic; though he spoke softly, his words silenced all those nearby and chilled the air. The child was terribly charismatic and exuded charm, yet everyone agreed that there was something not quite right about the boy and all those who looked upon him were filled with trepidation. Yet despite this, all instantly liked him and they were drawn to him like moths to flame, though nobody could say exactly why.
Lucian was a stoic child who showed very little emotion if any at all, and rarely smiled; a quality he acquired from his father. This alone would not have been any cause for worry, yet like his mother, he had all the makings of a great actor, and was therefore, by definition, a superb liar. Lucian discovered at a young age that with the combination of being unreadable and a cunning liar, he could easily deceive anyone he wanted, and more importantly, could acquire anything he so desired. Though there was very little in life that he wanted, he did not hesitate to use this ability when he needed to.
Despite his potentially dangerous qualities, the Blakeneys had raised Lucian impeccably and the child was genuinely good at heart with a strong sense of morality. This was due largely in part to Percy and Marguerite's careful sheltering of the boy, taking precautions to keep the child isolated from France for fear of him acquiring knowledge of Chauvelin and becoming anything like his father. Yet despite the Blakeneys' attempts to protect the boy, Lucian was still Chauvelin's son, and as he grew older, he became more like his father with each passing month.
Lucian stood flat against the wall just before the dining room where his mother sat with her brother and his family. The stairs were on the other side of the hallway and in order to get there, he needed to run past the large opening to the dining room. This needed to be timed perfectly and done swiftly and silently, as there was no place to conceal himself.
Percy entered the house and passed by Lucian to meet his brother-in-law, casting an encouraging look at the boy against the wall before he went in the room.
Lucian crouched down and as soon as he heard his father strike up conversation with his uncle and aunt, he swiftly ran across the hall, his feet not making a sound as they fell upon the floor. As he passed the large opening of the dining room, he stood up taller so he could run faster to the stairs that would lead him to the safe, quiet confines of his room. He was almost there, and a joyful smile spread across his face; he had made it, and everything in the world was suddenly good and right.
Just as his foot struck the first step, he froze in mid-motion as, at least as far as he was concerned, the most deplorable, detestable, and annoyingly grating sound known to man called out "Lucian! Where are you going?"
Lucian suddenly became nearly impassive, his eyes narrowed in frustration and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly as he fought for self-control. His cousin Gilles. Dear Lord, how he despised that pitiful excuse for a breathing organism.
Cursing under his breath more fluently then any eight year old should be able to, he slowly turned around and walked passed his cousin without a word and entered the dining room; he had made a promise to his father, and he intended on keeping it.
Gilles was not at all surprised at Lucian's behavior. He was actually a bit pleased with the response he received from his cousin. Lucian usually wouldn't even acknowledge that he had spoken; the fact that he responded, even with a nonverbal response, was a definite improvement. Gilles watched with bright green eyes as the golden boy silently walked past him and, sighing heavily and running a hand through his light brown hair, he closely followed his cousin into the dining room.
Lucian quickly became more annoyed than he was previously as his gold eyes darted around the room and took in the faces of the Dewhurst and the Ffoulkes families. Trust his father to bring them to Blakeney Manor with no reason whatsoever. For a moment, Lucian entertained the idea that the constant presence of these people was done merely to spite him, but he quickly brushed that notion aside; Tony, Andrew, and their families were here so often they may as well move in.
"Ah, Lucian! You finally decided to join us, I see." Percy said in his laziest drawl as the eldest Blakeney child entered the room.
"Indeed I have, father." he said quietly. As soon as he spoke, Andrew's young daughter, Allison, removed herself from he mother's lap and trotted to Lucian's side.
Lucian eyed the young girl nervously, and as she came closer, he slowly inched away, hoping that she would understand that he required at least five feet of space between them.
Allison clearly did not understand.
Sighing in defeat, he bowed slightly and took her small, delicate hand in his and softly kissed it.
Allison was overjoyed; so rarely did this strange child pay anyone even the slightest bit of attention, and to be on the receiving end of such gallantries from the beautiful boy was elating.
"Lucian, my boy, how have you been?" Andrew asked the child gently.
Grateful for the distraction and the excuse to pull away from the seemingly infatuated girl, he gracefully walked to the group of adults and, bowing slightly, smoothly said, "Quite well, Lord Ffoulkes. And what of yourself?"
"Couldn't be better."
"Always good to know."
"Lucian, why don't you take Allison and Gilles and go play with your brother." Percy suggested.
Lucian cringed. Blake in a crowd was quite possibly the single most aggravating thing possible. Leaning to look past his father, he saw Blake on the other side of the room, flanked by Tony's twin daughters and Andrew's son, gesticulating wildly and looking like a genuine idiot at best.
Sighing in frustration, he coldly looked up at his father and said in an icy voice "If that is your will, father, then I shall escort my cousin and Mademoiselle Ffoulkes." With a quick bow to the adults, he called for Gilles and Allison and quickly strode off to meet his moron of a brother.
Gilles quickly scurried beside his cousin and asked with a touch of arrogance "How have things been here in England, Lucian?" No response. Gilles frowned in disappointment and tried a different approach. "Have you ever crossed the channel, Lucian?" Still no answer. Gilles became incredibly frustrated at his cousin's uncooperativeness and settled on taking a direct approach. "Lucian, I just got back from a trip to France!"
Lucian stopped as though he had run into a wall. Gilles grinned and lifted his head in a gesture of superiority as his cousin looked at him with a mixture of surprise and envy in his yellow eyes. Gilles had one moment of delicious supremacy over the boy before his ego suddenly deflated as Lucian ran back to the group of adults without a word to the disappointed boy.
"Uncle Armand!" Lucian cried as he frantically clawed at Armand's coat. "You went to France? Tell me about France, uncle!"
Percy and Marguerite exchanged slightly fearful looks at the boy's outburst. "Not now, darling." Marguerite said quietly as she laid her hand upon her son's head. "We have some business to discuss. He can tell you later."
"But, mother…"
"Children!" Percy called loudly, effectively cutting off the aggravated boy. "Why don't you all go upstairs and play?"
Blake and Helouise lit up like the sun as they were given permission to leave the company of the adults. With Andrew and Tony's children in tow, the two Blakeney children sauntered toward the hallway.
As soon as they laid eyes on him, Tony's twin girls, Tacey and Tambre, flounced toward Lucian and, much to the dismay of Allison, threw their arms about the perpetually flustered boy. "We missed you, Lucian!" Tacey cried happily as Tambre planted a kiss upon his cheek.
Lucian sneered in absolute disgust at the girls. "Get you gone, you nasty women!" he hissed dangerously and the twins instantly let go, completely unfazed, and rushed to catch up with Blake.
As soon as they left, Lucian turned wide, pleading eyes upon his father. "Please. Let me stay. I want to learn about France."
Percy knelt before the boy and placed his hands upon his shoulders. "Later, son. I promise."
"It's always later, father!" Lucian cried, raising his voice slightly. "I'll never learn because you always say later and attach an empty promise to tell me. But later. Always later! When will it be later, father?"
"Lucian…"
"Why, father?" the boy asked desperately, pitifully, as tears began to fill his eyes. "What do you have against me learning about France? I want to learn. There is more then just England, father, though I doubt that someone as dim-witted as yourself could understand that!"
Marguerite got on her knees behind her son and pulled him against her. "Hush, Lucian." she said gently as she stroked his hair.
"Why, mother?" Lucian quietly sobbed in French as he turned in her embrace and laid his head against her chest. "Why does father love Blake more then me?"
"Nonsense." Marguerite said quietly. "He loves you just as much as your brother."
"No he doesn't. He took Blake with him on his last trip to France and I had to stay home. He doesn't love me." He had stopped crying and looked over his shoulder at Percy with absolute contempt in his golden eyes. "He doesn't even like it when I speak French. Is it because he's too stupid to understand, or is there some other reason?"
Marguerite pulled Lucian closer to her and held him tightly. "That's enough." she said quietly.
Lucian cuddled against his mother; though he knew that his father held no love for him, his mother did. He could live with that.
"Lucian?" The boy looked over Marguerite's shoulder and saw his sister walk tentatively into the room. "Everyone is missing your company, brother."
"You may tell them that I'm sorry to abstain from their presence, but I shall be retiring to my chambers." he said quietly as he pushed away his mother's arms.
"Oh." Helouise said sadly. "I shall tell them. May I escort you to your room, brother?"
Lucian offered his sister his arm and as she took it, he cast a cold, vicious glare at the group of adults before heading out of the room.
Lucian never liked his brother Blake very much. Though he did not possess the sheer beauty and the nearly hypnotic charisma of his brother, Blake was well loved by everyone. He was nearly an exact copy of his father in both looks and mannerism; the beautiful sandy blonde hair and a sharp intellect hidden behind a foppish façade placed him in high favor among the court of England. Despite his inane manner, his mother's deep blue eyes shone with refined wit and sublime kindness. Blake was gentle, simple, and honest, filled with charm, wit, and subtle intelligence, and for this, all loved him.
Lucian was smarter and more beautiful then his brother, but he couldn't help but envy Blake. While Lucian's presence commanded awe and respect, Blake had everyone's affection, something that Lucian was never able to attain. Either way, Lucian didn't care; he disliked people, and the more they flocked to Blake, the less he had to deal with. What spurred this terrible jealousy and ultimately lead to his hatred of Blake was that the detestable boy had somehow managed to earn their father's love, while Lucian could not.
Despite his frequent and desperate attempts to get his father to love him, Lucian was consistently unsuccessful. Lucian believed at first to be mistaken, but as he carefully watched his father, he became more and more convinced that Percy loved Blake more then he. His father looked at his brother with pure adoration and pride, yet when Percy looked at him, he could detect hurt and betrayal in his eyes, a certain sorrow and coldness in his entire disposition.
Lucian came to believe that there was something wrong with him if not even the amiable Percy Blakeney could truly love him. He had spent nearly every day trying to secure a small piece of his father's love, but at the end of the day, it was always Blake who managed to garner their father's praise. Though his brother could never beat him in anything they did, this was still not enough to please his father.
Everything he did never seemed to be good enough, and young Lucian's hopes of being loved just as well as Blake quickly vanished as the game grew monotonous and constant failure grew too disheartening to bare. His resentment toward his brother, the ever-standing victor, quickly dissolved into an envious hatred of the young Blakeney. All Lucian ever wanted was his father's love and approval. For some reason unbeknownst to him, he could never have it. What better way to vent his dejected furry then to blame it on Blake?
As soon as he heard Helouise's footsteps die as she walked down the long corridor, Lucian slowly opened his bedroom door and quickly checked the hallway for people before he slipped out of his room and swiftly made his way to the stairs. If his father refused to tell him about France, he would employ his own devices to learn about that untouchable land.
He silently crept down the stairs and ran to an adjoining hall. Within this corridor, there were long tapestries upon the wall that hung elegantly from ceiling to floor. Quickly scanning the hall for servants and unwanted children, Lucian quickly ducked behind one of the tapestries. He frantically groped the wall and hooked his fingers around a small iron loop in the wood and tugged back until the wall reveled a small passage as a circular section of the wall was removed.
He quickly dove into the passage and put the makeshift door back in its proper place; he could not afford to be found out, not now. He crawled on his hands and knees through he passage, his back just grazing the top of the tiny corridor. At the end of the tunnel, the small space opened up so the boy could stand and move freely.
Righting himself and quickly brushing the dust off his pants, he ran to the end of the small area and ran his hands along the end wall. His fingers brushed an uneven brick and he quickly removed it, revealing a small hole that looked through the fireplace into the dining room. Lucian grinned in total satisfaction; from where he stood, he could clearly see and hear the group of adults, though they could neither see nor hear him. Perfect.
"No, not at all. Things are well in France, Percy." Armand assured the slightly worried man.
Lucian frowned in frustration; he had missed something. Damn his sister for holding him up!
"The entire country is recovering brilliantly form Robespierre's Reign of Terror." Armand continued.
"Is it really?" Percy asked in a sort of joyful wonder. "I never would have thought."
"So this new leader of the French is doing well then?" Tony asked quietly. "The small one…what's his name again?"
"Napoleon Bonaparte. Yes, the man is doing very well."
"He is bringing back several of the institutions that the Committee of Public Safety expelled." Louise St. Just, Armand's wife, cut in. "He has invited back the nobility and has promised their safety."
"Has he really?" Suzanne asked excitedly. "Oh, Andrew, darling! We must find some time to visit!" the young woman cried, gently squeezing her husband's hand.
"If what our friends say is true, then we shall as soon as possible." Andrew said, gently smiling at the girl.
"Napoleon has also brought the church back to France. He has made an awfully nice deal with the Pope." Armand continued.
"Brother, that's wonderful!" Marguerite cried. "France really is going back to the way it was before, isn't it?"
"No, Marguerite. The people there are now free. Despite how bloody it was, I'm inclined to say that the Revolution was a success."
"So we are to like this Napoleon character, what?" Tony asked.
"As a whole, yes. But there are some things that he has done that should defiantly be looked down upon." Armand gravely said.
"Oh?" Percy asked, curious to the cause of Armand's sudden serious tone. "Like what?"
"This is the matter I wished to speak to you about." Armand said quietly. "I trust you remember Agent Chauvelin?"
Marguerite's eyes shot open and she looked at her brother in apprehension. Chauvelin, that man she had loved so many years ago, and yet still could not forget. How long has it been since anyone but she had spoken his name?
Percy shivered and quietly said, "Dead these nine years, yet despite the time, I cannot forget him."
"You're not the only one, Percy." Armand whispered. "France loves him, God knows why, but the entire country worships him. Percy, Napoleon has used his power over the church to declare Chauvelin a martyr, and his sainthood is pending as we speak."
The entire room was thrown into chaos.
"That man came directly from Hell and rests there now!"
"He nearly killed me and my entire family!"
"After all those he has murdered, the church of God is honoring his memory?"
"That man once stood in a river of blood, and they are making him a saint?"
Percy's head was swimming; nothing made sense and the others were making such a commotion he could not think. He clenched his eyes tightly and tried to block out the increasing noise, but to no avail. Percy had finally had it and he slammed his hand down on the table, shouting as loud as he could "For the love of God, all of you, stop it!"
The entire room fell silent immediately and Percy gently rubbed his temples with his thumbs. "Armand, how are the people of France taking this?" Percy asked quietly.
"They love it. They have been praying to him since Louis XVI was sentenced to death. Since he has now been sanctified by the church, they have started to worship him publicly because it's no longer idolatry or heresy."
"Is it really that bad?" Percy asked, smiling sadly.
"Much worse, I'm afraid. After they rebuilt Calais, the built a shrine to him on the place that he fell and they have built a huge monument in Paris on the spot he was put to rest. The Pope himself has made those places holy ground."
"When?"
"Yesterday, Percy. I was there to watch."
Percy neatly folded his hands and leaned his head against them, lost in thought. "There is nothing we can do about this." he said slowly after a moment of total silence. "We can teach our children what sort of a man he truly was, but we can do little more then that without having church officials on our backs for defaming his name. Martyr or not, Chauvelin is dead. He can't hurt anyone anymore."
"Even in death, he still haunts our lives." Andrew said quietly. "Percy, can we never get away from him?"
Marguerite suddenly felt light-headed and latched on to her husband for support. Percy instantly understood and drew her against him and gently stroked her hair as she buried her head in his coat. "No, Andrew." he whispered. "I don't think we ever will."
Marguerite moaned slightly as her arms tightened around Percy and she begun to tremble as she silently wept.
Percy held her tightly and gently rocked back and forth to calm the woman. "Leave us for a moment, would you?" Percy asked softly. Everyone in the room nodded slightly and left Percy and his wife in peace.
"Hush now, my Margot. It's alright. Everything is well."
"How can you say that?" she cried, looking up at her husband with red-rimmed eyes. She quickly buried her head back into Percy's coat and softly muttered, "I miss him so much, my love."
Percy tensed a bit as Marguerite's old sentiments for the agent surfaced again; he never really understood how deep the wounds Chauvelin's death had inflicted were, but he was starting to get an idea. "You have not yet forgotten him? Not even a bit, darling?"
"How could I?" she asked tearfully. "I loved him, I shared his bed, and I had…" Her voice broke as she renewed her weeping and tightened her hold on Percy. "He never should have died."
Percy could say nothing to comfort the desolate woman. After all, it was his fault that the man was dead. He had been very careful to shield his wife from Chauvelin's name for fear of losing her to his memory, but now she was dealing with her lover's death as if it had happened yesterday. Not speaking about this had prevented the wound from healing, and the temporary fix on the injury had just been torn off, and she was bleeding again. "My love, speak to me. How can I help you?"
"Lucian." Marguerite quickly dried her eyes and pushed away from Percy. "What will we do? Martyrdom is a church institution. It won't be long before his name spreads around England. Our children are bound to learn of him!"
"Marguerite…"
"My son, Percy! What if he finds out that…"
"Hush, my love. No one but you and I know. It will be alright. I swear it. We will just tell him what we tell Blake and Helouise if he ever asks. He will never know,"
"I suppose you are right." she said slowly. "But Chauvelin…"
"Chauvelin is dead, Margot." Percy slowly approached his wife and gently drew her into his embrace. "Let me help you forget him."
Marguerite was weeping so hard she could not speak, but she allowed her beloved husband to hold her. The two stood in silence only broken by Marguerite's choked sobs as Percy gently stroked her hair.
Marguerite slowly managed to compose herself and looked up into her husband's eyes. "I love you, Percy."
He smiled gently at the beautiful woman in his arms and tenderly kissed her tear-stained cheeks. "And I you, darling." Percy gently brushed Marguerite's hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. "Come, love. Let's see to your brother." Marguerite linked her arm through her husband's and allowed him to escort her out of the room to meet with the rest of the adults.
Young Lucian was stunned. Even after his parents had left and all was silent, he remained frozen to the wall, his mind slowly turning over all that he had heard. Chauvelin. He had never even heard of the man before.
He slowly detached himself from his post, placed the brick back in its proper place, and sat on the dusty floor of his alcove. A sly smile slid over his face as he realized that this man, this Chauvelin, was his key to France. A martyr, dead nine years, worshiped in France like a god. And here he thought that heroes didn't exist in the Common Era; that saints and martyrs, heroes and demigods were merely stories of the past, primitive fantasies. But here was this martyr who threw all of his preconceptions to pieces. A saint and hero, and those adults were afraid of him! He must have been quite the man to have only his name throw even adults such as those into chaos.
And his mother. Lucian's eyes narrowed in concentration. His mother had known him, had loved him, and had expressed a strong aversion to letting him know about the saint. His parents were hiding something from him, pulling a blanket over his eyes and shielding him from some truth.
Lucian shrugged indifferently and lightly traced his finger through the dust on the ground. No matter. He would ask the priest on Sunday about Chauvelin. But his mother, she was essential. She had known him personally. If he was to learn anything about the martyr it would have to be through his mother, whether she knew it or not. He could do it. This Chauvelin would be his truth, and now that he was resolved, nothing could keep him from learning about the man.
As much as he despised his brother, Lucian simple adored his mother and his sister. Young Helouise, a child of limitless love, bright as the sun itself. Her strawberry blonde hair seemed to be spun from rays of light and her clear, light blue eyes shown with a radiance known only to the angels.
Perhaps it was because Helouise was so much like her mother that allowed Lucian to develop this strange and unusual bond with the child of light. Helouise possessed her mother's sublime wit and she was remarkably intelligent, often able to challenge the intellects of those several years her elder. She was also uncommonly kind-hearted and gentle, a sweet and soft-spoken child who emanated a heavenly joy that engulfed all those nearby.
Yet despite her gentleness, Helouise possessed an indomitable spirit, a spunk that prevented her from fitting into the role of a noblewoman. She was tough and didn't mind getting dirty or injured, and it was this odd combination of peace and aggressiveness that drew people to her in fascination.
Lucian could not help but love the girl with all his heart. She was an individual, a child not unlike fire; beautiful, wild, and depending on how treated, comforting or dangerous, and that's what he loved about her. Likewise, Helouise had been drawn to her brother's side since she could walk on her own. Helouise understood Lucian, and made it her duty to comfort him in his sorrow and relieve him from his self-imposed solitude.
Lucian was fascinated by the girl; her wit challenged his own and her kindness never ceased to amaze him. She did everything in her power to put him at ease, and she would often use her extroverted qualities to divert attention away from the introverted boy, for which he was eternally grateful.
As much as he simply adored his sister, he fervently loved his mother. Though he lacked his father's love, he had his mother's complete affection. His mother protected him and comforted him, would often spend hours at a time just sitting with Lucian in her embrace, and would sit by his bedside and run her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. Marguerite lover her son, her illegitimate child, more then enough to make up for the love that his father had deprived him.
Lucian loved his mother and his sister so much that his young heart did not have the ability to love any others, yet Marguerite and Helouise made sure that he didn't need to.
Lucian quickly exited and covered his passage and ran toward the stairs, but skidded to a halt as he saw the adults congregated in the hall. He rolled his eyes in frustration and swiftly changed direction and ran out the back door and into the sprawling gardens of Blakeney Manor.
He ran around to the side of the house and stopped before a large tree. He looked up and smiled broadly as he saw the open window of his bedroom right above him. He stretched slightly before he jumped up and grabbed one of the tree's limbs and began to climb; jumping into his room from the tree shouldn't be too difficult. He had of course, never done it before, but it didn't look terribly hard.
He crouched down and steadied himself on a limb level with the window and slowly stood up, arms held out for balance. Bending his knees slightly, he took a deep breath and leapt through the window, landing with a splash within a bathtub filled with cold water.
Lucian frantically scrambled to get out of the tub as he was engulfed in the icy water, but the edges were slippery and he quickly lost his grip and fell face first back into the water, his forehead hitting the edge of the tub as he fell. He quickly righted himself and stood shivering in the freezing water, his soaked clothing clinging to his thin frame as he gripped his head in pain and shouted a string of curses in several different languages that would make even the raunchiest of sailors turn scarlet in shame.
It was at this exact moment that Sir Percy Blakeney chose to walk into young Lucian's room to retrieve the boy so he could say proper farewells to their guests.
"Futue te ipsum! Stercus pro cerebro habes!"
"Dear me, Lucian! Was that Latin?"
Lucian could do nothing but stare dumbly at his father and shake uncontrollably from the cold. He had just been caught in an incredibly awkward situation. Well, at least he hadn't been caught. Given his current predicament, Lucian did what any other eight year old would do in such a position: deny the blatantly obvious. "Nooooo…."
"Well, your mother and I are going to have a long talk about what to do about your language, son. It's simply filthy! Pity a bath can't clean everything."
And again, reprimands from his father. Never mind that he had taught himself to speak a dead language fluently. Once again, not enough. Lucian looked down sadly at another failed attempt, however unintentional it was, to impress his father. Praise, never. Only criticism.
Percy looked strangely at the shivering young boy as if he had just noticed he was standing in a bathtub, drenched and fully clothed. "Heavens, Luc! Where have your brains gone?"
"Father, please, don't call me Luc…"
"Sink me, you look like a drowned cat! Now, mind you, if you wish to bathe, that's perfectly well, but most remove their clothing prior to getting wet."
"But, father, I…"
"Demned inefficient, if you ask me!" Percy continued as if the soaking child had not spoken. "With all that fabric in the way! La, but you couldn't properly wash yourself, not to mention you ruin a perfectly fine outfit!"
Lucian groaned and sank back into the water, held his breath, and completely submerged himself; even the freezing water was preferable to his father's mindless prattle.
"Percy, darling?" Marguerite called as she climbed the stairs. "What's taking you so long? Is Lucian not there?"
"No, no, nothing like that, love." Percy called as he walked out of the child's room and hung over the banister. "Your son has just decided to wash himself and do his laundry simultaneously. La, he didn't even have the water heated!"
Marguerite's eyes widened in shock and concern and rushed up the rest of the stairs and dashed into Lucian's room.
"Saves time and it's less work for the servants, what?" Percy relentlessly continued as he walked down the stairs. "Such a considerate boy. Me thinks he may be on to something! Soon, the whole of England shall be bathing with their clothing on! Demned clever child, what?"
Marguerite ran into Lucian's room and frantically looked around for her son. He was nowhere to be seen. She heard a faint splashing and rushed into the other section of his room and found the boy facedown in a tub filled with water. Panic seized her and she quickly threw her arms about the child and fished him out of the icy water.
Lucian looked around in confusion, shivering uncontrollably and gasping for breath. His wide, gold eyes fell upon his mother's relieved face and stuttered, "Is father gone?"
Confirming that her son was well, she held him at arms length and looked at him sternly. "Look at yourself, Lucian! You're soaked to the bone and white as a sheet! You would put yourself in danger and frighten your mother to hide from your father?"
"Mother, I…"
"No, I don't want to hear it!" Marguerite's anger quickly evaporated as her son looked at her with those pale, yellow eyes and she held the boy tightly against her. "Look, your lips are turning blue, poor thing. Let's get you out of your clothes or you will catch your death of chill."
Marguerite quickly unbuttoned his shirt and gently removed it and cast it to the side as she cast it to the side as she helped him out of his pants. When Marguerite had stripped the boy of all of his clothing, she left his side for a moment to retrieve a towel for the shivering child.
"Mother." Lucian called gently from his bed where he sat shaking form the cold. "I'm sorry."
Marguerite smiled softly as she returned to her son and wrapped the towel and her arms around him. "There is nothing to be forgiven for." she said sweetly as she vigorously rubbed Lucian's arms and torso to warm him. "Just promise me that you won't do anything like that again."
Lucian smiled tiredly as his mother's embrace warmed him and his shivering ceased. He snuggled into his mother and, sighing in content, whispered, "You will not have to fear for that, mother. I quite dislike cold water."
Marguerite pulled her son closer and gently stroked his wet hair. "Good." she said softly, gently kissing the top of his head. "Come, love. We need to bid our guests farewell."
"Don't make me go." he whispered, burring his head against his mother's breasts.
"Now, now, Lucian. You must be a gentleman. Come." she said as she drew the towel-clad boy into her arms and carried him out of his room. "You can stay with me."
Lucian pouted slightly as his mother picked him up but relaxed his head against her shoulder. Though he was not happy that he was being forced to be semi-social, the fact that he would be with his mother was comforting.
As Marguerite walked down the stairs with Lucian cradled in her arms, Percy looked up and exclaimed in the most foppish tone imaginable "La, but what is this, son? Wearing a towel? Goodness, you're just setting trends right and left! First bathing with your clothing, then wearing the demned towels! La, my boy, if you don't wear the clothing, where's the point of washing the cursed garments? They would never get dirty!"
"Perhaps," Andrew interjected in an equally foppish tone, "he intends to bathe with the towels?"
Percy stood in silence for a moment and looked absently at his friend before saying in awe "By God, man! That doesn't make any proper sense! With what would he dry himself? The clothing? My word, it's a never-ending vicious cycle! Dear me, Luc, you are turning the entire world on it's head! No, no, that simply won't do. You must stop this trend-setting immediately!"
Lucian hid his face against his mother's chest, quietly mumbling "Please, mother. Make him stop."
Marguerite put her son sown and knelt before him, gently stroking his still damp hair. "Go on into the kitchen and get something to eat, but you must promise to come back immediately and say goodbye."
"Of course, mother."
"Good. Go, Cherie."
Lucian cast a grateful look at his mother and quickly took off down the hall. When the boy was out of earshot, Marguerite softly said "Percy, please, don't tease Lucian. You know how he hates it."
"I wasn't teasing!" he cried defensively. "I was simply pointing out the disastrous direction he may have lead the country!"
Marguerite frowned disapprovingly at her husband. "Honestly, Percy. Do refrain from such antics. He looks up to you. He really does. And when you treat him like that, it hurts him." She laid her hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear "Lucian cares much more then he shows."
Percy suddenly felt horrible. Though he didn't think he had done anything wrong, the fact that he may have hurt Lucian filled him with a feeling of remorse. He often forgot that Marguerite's first son was not his first son, and he simply could not joke around with Lucian the way he could with Blake. Lucian lacked that sense of humor, a quality, he clearly remembered, his father shared. "I suppose I owe the boy an apology, what?" Percy asked somewhat morosely.
"I would appreciate it if you did, love."
"Very well. It shall be done. But first, let's see our guests out."
After the family had dined together, Percy excused himself and, quickly kissing his wife and children, left Blakeney Manor to visit Andrew at his estate. The young lord needed some help moving some things, and Percy had promised his friend that he would be there; after all, the man had been crippled in a fight with the soon to be sainted Chauvelin, and it was frankly a miracle Andrew could walk at all.
Marguerite spent a good portion of the evening breaking up the frequent fights between Blake and Lucian and telling the children stories of the heroics of the Scarlet Pimpernel on Blake's request. A few hours later, the children were fast asleep and the total silence and solitude that Marguerite faced forced her thoughts to wander down paths rarely traveled. She usually had Percy's company to keep her mind off such painful subjects, and the fact that the afternoon's conversation had been about him only worsened the situation.
As she stood there in the dark, she felt a chill as her mind filled with images of Chauvelin, a man she loved, the father of her child. Her soul trembled and she clutched her chest as if trying to hold her heart in place. Even after all these years, she still loved him, and it didn't help that she blamed herself for his death. And, curse it all, he died thinking that she never loved him!
Before she knew what she was doing, she was silently weeping and walking swiftly toward her own personal rooms; rooms that haven't been used since she and Percy had renewed their love for each other. She carefully opened the door and stepped into the room, her eyes quickly scanning the room as she slowly made her way to the large burrow at the other end of the room.
Gently opening the large doors, she dropped to her knees and pulled open the bottom drawer. The moonlight coming through the window reflected off a beautiful, black blade lying in the drawer. Marguerite drew in a sharp breath and gently ran her fingers over the polished weapon. Her weeping increased in intensity as she took a neatly folded satin sash from under the sword and carefully unfolded it.
For a moment, she could do nothing but stare at the beautiful, tricolor garment in her hands, gently running a thumb over the smooth material. She whimpered slightly and tightly clutched the sash to her body, holding a bit of it to her face and wept as though she were holding the dying body of her lover in her arms.
Contrary to what Marguerite thought, not all of her children were asleep. Lucian lay wide-awake in his bed, his young mind turning over all that he had heard that day. The grown ups had said that the martyr had been a murderer, and that didn't make any sense. And the fact that his mother had said that she had loved him wasn't helping the situation in the least bit. Lucian was terribly confused and he couldn't handle it; he needed his mother.
He slid out of bed and quietly opened the door, looked both ways, and stepped into the hall, his feet pattering as he made his way to his parents' room.
Young Lucian stood before the room in confusion; the door was wide open, and his mother wasn't in there. He timidly put one foot beyond the threshold and gently called "Mother?" but was met with no response. He stood there in absolute silence and allowed himself to become minutely paranoid, but was presently returned to his state of absolute calm as his keen ears picked up some quiet noise from down the hall.
He quickly shuffled to the room at the end of the hall and stood outside the closed door of a room he was not allowed to enter. He laid his head against the door; his mother was defiantly in there.
Deciding that his mother would understand that he needed her and would forgive him for entering the forbidden territory, he silently opened the door and peeked his head into the room.
His bright, golden eyes widened in wonder; his mother sat on the ground with her back toward him, her shoulders shaking, and she was muttering something incoherent between heart-wrenching sobs. Lucian squinted into the darkness; she was holding something
As his eyes adjusted, he found himself gazing at the most beautiful piece of fabric he had ever seen, and for some inexplicable reason, found himself strangely drawn to it. He shook his head and banished these thoughts from his head; his mother needed him perhaps more then he needed her. Softly stepping into the room, he quietly called "Mother."
Marguerite stiffened slightly as she heard her son call for her, but was too grief-stricken to really think coherently, and did not respond to her child. She carefully folded the sash and gently placed it back in its proper place and slid the drawer closed. She slowly turned on her knees to face her son and, sniffling slightly, held her arms out to him.
Lucian rushed to his mother and threw his arms around her neck and laid his head on her shoulder.
Marguerite wrapped her arms tightly around the child and wept slightly. This boy was all she had left of Chauvelin, and she'd be damned if she couldn't protect him; she had already failed his father. "What's wrong, Lucian?"
"I was worried about you, mother." he said quietly. He pulled back slightly so he could look into her red-rimmed eyes. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"
"Nothing, darling." she whispered through her tears. "Nothing."
"You miss daddy, don't you?"
Marguerite tensed and her arms instinctively tightened around the boy even more, if that was even possible. The child naturally had no inkling of the impact his words had on the desolate woman. Marguerite laid her cheek on the top of the boy's head and began weeping nearly hysterically. "Yes, Lucian. I miss your father. Very, very much."
Lucian felt absolutely helpless as he watched his beloved mother fall to pieces before his eyes. God, how he hated being useless. She was holding him so tightly he was having a hard time breathing, but he nestled against her and affectionately kissed her collarbone. "It's alright, mother. I'm here for you. I won't leave you, not ever."
Marguerite was weeping too hard to respond, but she gently rocked back and forth and within moments, both mother and son were fast asleep.