I only own Amorette.

She laughed as she reached the doorway, chasing the little girl out into the gardens. The smell of fresh lavender wafted her way as she meandered through the wet sheets that were hanging to dry. Batting the last sheet away she followed little Pauline who was now skirting round the garden towards the front of the house, giggling as she went. A happy day mused Amorette as she caught sight of Pauline. The child tried to scamper away upon hearing Amorette's approach but a cacophony of chuckles filled the glade at the front of the house when Amorette lifted Pauline into her arms, dancing to the tune in her head as she began to sing…

"Lavender's green, dilly, dilly, Lavender's blue.

If you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you.

Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly, and the lambs play.

We shall be safe, dilly, dilly, out of harm's way.

I love to dance, dilly, dilly, I love to sing.

When I am queen, dilly, dilly, you'll be my king.

Who told me so, dilly, dilly, who told me so?

I told myself, dilly, dilly, I told me so…"

Amorette had given no thought to the quality of her singing as she had sung in English and the little child in her arms knew it not, and Elise the maid had heard it too many times to care. There was no one else around to have taken notice of it. No thought had been given to her clothing either. She wore a simple ivory garden dress, and her mousey brown hair was gathered in a simple plat at the nape of her neck. She hadn't even thought to put on shoes and felt no regret as the cool grass was a fresh cushion to her feet. She let Pauline slide to the ground and as she leaned down the bottom of her corset pinched the top of her thighs. She paid it no heed though, and brushed some of the dirt from the child's face.

It was Elise who made Amorette aware of the riders. She came running from the house, skirts flying and decorum left behind. "Madame! Amorette! Amorette! Riders!" Later on, Amorette would laugh at Elise's momentary slip. Her companion was all formality and etiquette and the use of her Christian name was very rare indeed. She knew that the moment had called for it though. Unexpected visitors were extremely rare in her secluded little world just outside Provins. Amorette had spun around where she stood to observe that four riders had just turned the bend in the road and were cantering towards them. Amorette knew that there were several sets of pistols buried somewhere within the house but she had not one about her person in that moment. She did not even have a knife or weapon of any kind should she need it. She thrust Pauline behind her into Elise's arms and brought her hand up to shield her eyes from the sunlight and it was then that she realised weapons were not likely to be needed. The riders were musketeers. Blue cloaks flowing behind them and hats pulled over their eyes, it wasn't until they were passing the gate that Amorette saw him.

All sound escaped Amorette in that moment. The sound of the horses, the whimpers of Pauline and Elise's calls for her to move back were lost to her. All that she was aware of was the pounding of her heart. Amorette felt her ears begin to burn as all the blood rushed to her face. A cloud of dust encased her as four horses skidded to a halt. Despite the tired, frustrated scowl and streaks of dirt that made him almost unrecognisable as the man she once knew; Amorette had to concede that Athos always did look remarkably well astride a horse.

A whispered snarl was what brought her out of her reverie. "Athos she better not be who I think she is!" Amorette would have thought the man Spanish by his looks if he had not spoken fluent French. Thinking she hadn't heard him, he doffed his hat and nodded a greeting to her, a gentle smile gracing his face. He looked as if he were about to speak again, but Athos got there first. Without a doff of his hat or nod, or greeting of any kind; his deep voice addressed her gruffly and without pretence. "We have been on the road three days and nights. We would be grateful for food and shelter for an evening. Porthos here is injured," he jerked his head in the direction of the largest of the four men who was slightly lopsided in his saddle, his dark skin glistening with sweat. Despite his hat still being upon his head Amorette noticed a trickle of blood that was slowly progressing down the side of his face from his forehead. He waved his hand in the direction of the man who appeared to be of Spanish decent, "and Aramis here needs somewhere warm and dry to tend to his wound. We would be grateful for your hospitality Madame." He spoke with such assertiveness and finality that Amorette was sure that he thought she would not refuse him.

She could refuse, she supposed. It was her home after all, her hospitality. There was no reason for anyone to question her decision if she did refuse. Amorette was a young woman living alone in an isolated manor house with only a maid and a small child for company. Letting four men into her home; even musketeers with only the purest of gentlemanly intentions would still be frowned upon if anyone were to hear of it. It would be a miracle if anyone did hear of it though. Perhaps she wasn't talked about enough. Decision made, she became aware of six sets of eyes on her; the piercing blue gaze of Athos' the most scrutinizing. Somehow she felt unable to speak. She simply moved to the side to let them pass and said nothing.

Amorette let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding when Athos nudged his horse forward and she was no longer in his eye line. She wasn't acknowledged by Porthos either, who seemed to be putting all his energy into staying upon his horse. The man named Aramis nodded to her and smiled again, placing his hat against his chest in apparent gratitude as he did so. When he too had directed his horse towards the house Amorette took more notice of the fourth man. He was far younger than the other three. Whilst they were all well-built and sported fashionable beards that were bound to be all the range in Paris; this young man was clean shaven and rather thin. She supposed he could even be younger than her. He too smiled at her as he nudged his horse onwards.

The tension in the air dissipated as the musketeers reached the house, but Amorette was still breathing rather quickly. She was acutely aware of the rise and fall of her breasts as they strained against her tight bodice. She came crashing down to earth with the placement of a rather small hand in hers. She looked down to find Pauline almost hidden in her skirts. The child looked almost more bewildered than Amorette was herself. Amorette gave the child's hand a squeeze, not knowing how to comfort her when she too felt confused as to the whole debacle.

They would have been happy to stand in such a fashion for a while but Elise's chiding broke their silent perplexity. "Oh for heaven's sake child! Rouse yourself." Amorette turned to her companion, and was instantly shocked to find herself the recipient of the command and not little Pauline as she had first thought. "You must be the host! I shall see to their horses! Go now!" The last command was enforced with a small shove in the small of Amorette's back and she was separated from Pauline. The child was enveloped in Elise's embrace and walking stiffly up the path Amorette did rouse herself. Athos was going to think her akin to the wet linens that were hanging to dry at the back of the house if she didn't conduct herself properly. She quickened her pace to a brisk walk. Observing the musketeers helping Porthos down from his horse and towards the door she followed them out of the afternoon sun and into the relative darkness of the hallway.

They halted and looked about them. The blue eyes were upon her again. "The use of this room is agreeable?" questioned Athos as he gestured to the first door.

Amorette bristled slightly at the cold tone in which he addressed her, but she did not let it travel to her features. Instead she smiled. "Use whichever room is of your choosing Messieurs."

Porthos was leaning heavily on Aramis as Athos strode ahead and opened the doors to the parlour. The large room boasted six large south facing windows that bathed the room in warm golden sunlight at this time of day and the green décor of the room made it seem almost as if it were a part of the gardens outside. Aramis and Porthos followed Athos into the room and Porthos deposited himself heavily onto a couch. The younger man who had not yet been introduced to her gestured for Amorette to enter the room and he followed afterwards, immediately taking off his Jerkin and depositing it in a chair opposite Porthos.

Immediately Amorette was drawn to Athos, who had never before been in this house. How she had imagined as a young child that he would stand in this room regularly, admiring the aspect of the house and asking of the people depicted in the portraits that were upon the walls. It felt strange now; almost other-worldly after all that had happened that he was here now. He seemed to be admiring the room at first but Amorette quickly realised that he was looking for something. His gaze fell upon the old fashioned pistols that were pinned to the wall above the fire place in decoration. Amorette had never been able to reach the pistols in all her lifetime and tall though they all were; she doubted that any of the four men would be able to either without the aid of a stool or chair.

Athos turned to her abruptly, finding her already watching him. "Have you any other muskets in the house?" Amorette was taken aback by his question, but her quizzical expression prompted him to explain more without her questions. "I do not believe we were followed but it would be wise to take precautions whilst we are in your house."

"We lost some of our weapons on the road," explained Aramis from where he sat with Porthos, "Don't be alarmed. It's more a case of us musketeers feeling rather lost without weapons than the threat of any danger." He smiled at her, and it reached his warm brown eyes. Amorette knew in that second that he was a heart-breaker. Aramis was the kind of man who treated women so well that even the most hostile of break-ups would be looked upon fondly by the woman. He took off his Jerkin too and helped Porthos with his. Athos was now the only one of the four who stood upon any kind of ceremony. When he looked at her pointedly Amorette realised that she hadn't answered his question.

"There are guns. I'll have to find them though." At her answer Athos turned away from her. For a moment she hesitated, not sure what else she was expected to say. How was she to justify herself to him when he was behaving as if she'd disappointed him in some way. Deciding to forget about him completely she turned to Aramis who was now inspecting Porthos' head wound. The cut didn't look deep and seemed to have stopped bleeding but there was quickly drying blood on his face. "Is there anything you need?"

Aramis smiled at her gratefully again. "Some water and some cloth please? A thin needle and some thread if you have it would be wonderful too."

Amorette left the room in search of his requested items, feeling relief as soon as she had crossed the threshold. It would be dark soon enough. The musketeers would most likely have to stay the night so she needed to build up a steely resolve before she returned to the parlour. She found the needle and thread upstairs in an old sewing box that had once belonged to her mother. The drop in temperature made itself known to her as her bare feet slapped against the cold stone of the staircase. She bustled through the rustic passageways to the kitchen and gathered some cloth and a bowl of water. A delicate giggle pierced the silence and she realised Elise and Pauline must have made their way round to the back of the house again. She looked up and through the window in search of them but her view was hindered by the wet linen. An idea formed in her head and she slipped out of the back door and snagged a stretch of wet linen and carried it with her into the house again.

"Here," she said as she set Aramis' desired instruments on a side table and held out the already wet linen. "It's freshly washed; better to clean the wound with this." Amorette pressed the cool damp fabric into Aramis' hand and turned to go in search of the guns but she felt a hand grab her wrist.

"Thank you Madame." Aramis' polite gratitude came with his gentle squeeze of her hand. Amorette scuttled off again, heading down a tight flight of steps to the wine cellar. Grabbing an old piece of tarpaulin she began to gather some of the weapons and ammunition that were held in the bowels of the house, only stopping when she could carry no more weight back upstairs. Reaching the hallway, Amorette was all too aware of another set of weapons that were hidden within the house. She left the weapons from the cellar at the bottom of the stone staircase and ran to her own room. From her jewellery box she removed a small key. As she moved through the room she caught sight of a vile of lavender oil sitting on the table beside her bed. She plunged the vile into the pocket of her dress and rushed back downstairs.

All four men seemed shocked that Amorette could carry such a weight as she dumped the weapons unceremoniously onto the floor in front of the fireplace. Athos crouched to inspect them whilst Amorette made her way to the other side of the room, to the painting of another manor house not dis-similar to the one they were currently in. "Some of these will need a good clean before they are usable!" mused Athos as he fingered the trigger of one of the slightly older weapons.

Facing away from the room towards the painting, Amorette allowed herself a few seconds to close her eyes and let her anger dissipate before she simpered "well next time you want to set up a temporary musketeer garrison in my house, you should give me good notice, and I promise they will be buffed so well you'll be able to see your face in them!"

That earned an appreciative chuckle from Porthos. Still she did not turn around. Instead her attention fell upon the painting and the wall behind it. She ran a hand along the top of the wood panelling that covered the bottom half of the wall looking for a notch in the wood. Finding it, Amorette inserted the key and turned it clockwise. Nothing happened. She turned anti-clockwise and when she heard the catch behind the painting click she quickly stepped back a few paces as the painting swung forward and for the second time that day she was enveloped in a cloud of dust.

When the dust had all but cleared, Amorette ventured forward and looked into the hidden hole in the brick wall that the painting had concealed. The old rosewood box was exactly where it had been placed eight years ago. She had forgotten how heavy it was. As she lifted it and tuned to face the room, wiping the thick layer of dust from the lid as she did so; she was met with four pairs of curious eyes. Amorette crossed the room to where Athos still stood and presented him the box. "If its good condition you want. I'd say that these will have fared better over the years! You should have them, they are yours after all." Amorette wiggled the catch on the front of the box and a creak filled the room as she lifted the lid. Inside the box lay two of the most ornate pistols that Amorette had ever seen. She was sure they were worth more than most of the paintings in this room and the contents of her jewellery box put together. For a moment Amorette couldn't decipher just what lay behind the stoic facial expression, but as Athos gazed at the pistols that lay on a bed of rich red velvet she thought she saw a flicker of emotion, the first he had shown since he had entered her home that day. Was it disbelief? Athos closed the remaining space between them and reached to take the box from her. Amorette tried to pass it to him swiftly, but despite her efforts his fingers still managed to momentarily brush hers as he took the box from her. That was all it took, that one touch was enough for her to want to be outside again. She wanted nothing more than to be as far from him as possible.

Unfortunately before Amorette could retreat, the silence was well and truly broken, "You two obviously know each other so are you going to introduce us?" grumbled Porthos as he glared pointedly at Athos.

The room was stifling. Athos seemed riled by the apparently obvious knowledge of their acquaintance whilst Aramis simply seemed bemused. Porthos and the other young man wore expressions of bewilderment. Amorette felt all eyes on her in that moment and she realised that she hadn't yet given her name. "Oh how silly of me," she chuckled nervously, "Not even telling you my name. It's Amorette."

"Just Amorette?" It was Aramis' turn to chuckle. He smiled knowingly at her for just a second before turning back to Porthos and beginning to clean his wound. Before she could reply though, Athos beat her to it.

"Aramis, Porthos, D'artagnan; May I introduce you to Mademoiselle Amorette Du Guillory, Cometess de La Feuillette. She is an old family friend."

Amorette hated her name. She hated the expectations that came with it. It was in complete juxtaposition to the quiet simple life that she led, and Athos knew that was how she felt. Perhaps that was why he was now trying to supress a grin as she squirmed under their scrutiny. She turned from him then, leaving him standing in front of the fire place holding his old pistols and made for the door. "Honestly no one's called me that in years," she simpered as she managed to put some distance between herself and Athos. "Amorette will do just fine. Do you need anything else?" She stopped by Porthos and Aramis and saw that the latter was ready to stitch the wound.

Porthos turned slightly towards her and tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace really. "The distraction of a pretty Mademoiselle is always recommended and welcome!" He patted the empty part of the couch that he currently sat upon. Amorette was struck by the notion that she couldn't really refuse an injured man no matter how much she wished to put space between herself and Athos. She rounded the couch and just as she was about to sit down Aramis put up a hand to stop her.

"Normally my sentiments about said distractions would be the same, but in this case I think it might be better Mademoiselle Amorette if you waited outside, Porthos can tend to let his fists do the talking where stitching is concerned."

Amorette complied, mentioning that she would have some rooms aired out for them all to rest in for the night. At once she was met with the protestations of all four men who declared themselves perfectly comfortable in the parlour and told her not to take the trouble. She remembered the vile of lavender oil in her pocket as she made to leave the room and scurried back to Aramis. She leaned over the back of the couch to give it to him and then rushed to the door again, completely missing the look that Aramis and Porthos had shared as she presented a considerably large amount of cleavage when she leaned. She took her leave of them then, slightly disgruntled at being dismissed as the host. More than anything, preparing the rooms for them would have given her something to do. Now she was left to content herself. She meandered into the kitchen and her pot of a simple stew reminded her that they would probably be in need of food. She spooned four rather large portions into bowls and placed them on a tray. To this she added a bottle of wine and some sliced bread and a slab of cheese. She left it there and went out into the garden in search of Pauline and Elise. The fading light told her that John would be coming from the village with his cart to fetch them both back home for the night. She found them picking lavender to take back to Pauline's mother. Amorette sank down onto the grass and watched them for a while, not sure how she expected her night to unfold. She would retire to bed soon to avoid Athos, that was a given, but she was unsure how long it would take for sleep to claim her. And what would the next day bring? Would they be gone before she woke, or would they find need to tarry? The anticipation of Elise and Pauline leaving for the day and of being able to escape to the sanctuary of her own room was almost overwhelming. So much so that Amorette was so enveloped in her own thoughts that she did not notice D'artagnan approaching until he placed himself upon the grass beside her.

"I do believe I owe you an apology," he said as he leaned back on his elbows. "You are a Mademoiselle. When we arrived I thought the child must have been yours that that you had a husband. She is your maid's child?"

"No." She turned to him then, and in the fading daylight she could see that he looked exhausted. "Pauline's mother lives in a nearby village. Her husband has been ill for some time and she cares for him day and night. I take care of the child for a few afternoons a week to try and lighten the load a little. It's not much in the way of help, I know. But the woman is proud and would not accept anything more." Amorette turned away from him and smiled at Elise as she passed and entered the house. Pauline was attempting to tie a pretty piece of ribbon around her picked lavender.

She became aware of D'artangnan's eyes on her as she watched the child for a few minutes. "I'm sure Pauline's mother appreciates it all the same. There can be no doubt that there will be others with the ability and opportunity to help who do nothing. But can I ask why? Why do you feel the need to help if she felt it unneeded?"

Still Amorette did not turn to look at him. She was unsure of what she would find there in his eyes if she did. Pity? Confusion? "My father was ill for a time when I was young," she began, "Even though we were perfectly able to compensate for his care my mother would take it all upon herself. She felt it her duty, as his wife to nurse him back to health. Shortly after my father began to recover though, my mother fell ill herself. She passed away. I would not see that happen again."

"And your father?" asked D'artagnan.

"He made a full recovery." Amorette found she was not able to disguise the note of bitterness in her voice and she knew that D'artagnan had not missed it when she turned to look at him.

"I'm sorry," he added in an undertone as if he felt that he was intruding.

"Don't be. You had no part in it." Amorette smiled at him reassuringly. "The house is my mother's. She had her own land and title. I count myself as very lucky that my mother came from an area in Champagne where women may inherit. Noblesse uterine, have you heard of it?"

"Yes, but I've not before met someone who benefited from it. I'm to take it that if your father had inherited your mother's legacy, it would have been a bad thing?" D'artagnan sat up straight then, and turned towards her slightly, his interest piqued.

Amorette almost snorted in laughter, but caught herself just in time. Instead she let out a rather girlish chuckle. "It would have been a very bad thing indeed. A small part of him still believes it's all rightfully his though. He's English you see, so he doesn't quite understand Noblesse uterine."

"That was you singing earlier then?" he asked. "We heard you from the road. Your father taught you the song?"

"No! That is, yes it was me singing," Amorette felt her face grow redder with every second. She had not thought that they had heard her singing. "But my mother taught me the song, not my father." The thoughts of her terrible singing voice were enough to make her want to rush to the stems of lavender and hide herself within them so she swiftly changed the subject. "You all seem very adept at avoiding the obvious don't you? Not one of you has asked how Athos and I know one another yet."

D'artagnan leant back on his elbows again, growing uncomfortable. "Athos is a closed book where things like that are concerned. When he introduced you he told us you were a family friend. That in itself is more information than expected. Perhaps you would be as good as to tell me Mademoiselle?"

Amorette didn't know where to look when he asked her that. If he really didn't know, then she wasn't about to tell him. She couldn't even bare to speak the name aloud let alone explain all the circumstances around their connection. She was almost certain that Aramis knew though. His outburst when they had first arrived was proof. She bore no ill will to the young man beside her at all, but she would leave it to his friends to explain the particulars. The story was not hers to tell after all. He was still waiting for an answer and was looking at her expectantly. She shook her head at him in apology, afraid that if she spoke her voice would crack. Amorette thought he seemed to understand, but all further questioning was cut off when Pauline came upon them. D'artagnan shifted a little so that she could sit between them on the grass. He was badgered with questions from the child for the next while, which he answered good naturedly and with enthusiasm. It was getting harder and harder for Amorette not to think of the circumstances that had rendered Athos and herself no longer as close as they had been years ago but it was inevitable now that his friends were asking about it. The solace of her bedroom was calling to her more than ever.

Amorette's prayers were answered when Elise came from the house to announce that John had come to collect Pauline and herself back to the village and that a bath had been drawn in her room. Amorette was all gratefulness as she walked with Elise through the house to the front door. Little Pauline still chittered away to D'artagnan as she walked, clinging to his hand. All too soon they were in the cart and on their way home.

"I think you've made a new friend," Amorette chuckled as she lightly nudged D'artagnan and pointed at the cart in the distance from where Pauline was still waving. "You are all extremely tired, and I'm sure you'll want to leave early tomorrow morning, so I'll away to bed now. There's food in the kitchen for you all."

Amorette turned to enter the house again but stopped at the sound of D'artagnan's voice. "You didn't have to go to the trouble!" he said without turning to face her. "You've been very kind. Thank you Madame." Amorette didn't reply. She made her way upstairs then and into her room. Closing the door upon the rest of the house should have been a relief, with her comfy bed waiting for her and the warm air of the room scented from the oils and petals that had been added to the bath tub and warm water but she'd forgotten to eat herself in all the commotion.

Deciding to go downstairs and bring some bread and cheese back up with her, Amorette got hallway down the stairs before the male voices were discernible and the conversation they were having was clear.

"Who is she?" asked D'artagnan with force behind his words. It was clear to Amorette that he had already asked the question and received no answer.

There were footsteps then, and Amorette shrank back into the shadows at the top of the staircase. "Are you going to tell him or shall I?" muttered Aramis. They were in the hallway now. She chanced to peek around the bannister and saw that Porthos was the last to leave the parlour. Perhaps Athos and Aramis shared a look of some sort; she couldn't be sure as Athos faced away from her. Then he marched to another set of doors that led to the dining room. It was a room Amorette had no cause to use very often and Athos even less so but she knew what his intentions were in that moment. He could not bring himself to put into words the origins of their connection.

When he opened the doors and entered the room. The others filed in after him. There was silence for a moment and Amorette crept down a few steps to hear better. She knew that in a few seconds the painting above the fireplace would make everyone aware of just what it was that connected Athos to her. In her mind she saw the painting of two women sitting together that had been commissioned eight years ago. She was still a child when she had sat for it.

"But that's Milady De Winter?" D'artagnan was the first to speak, and Amorette knew that he was looking at the painting.

"And Mademoiselle Amorette," muttered Porthos, "A portrait like that can mean only one thing-"

"Sisters?" came D'artagnan's incredulous interruption. Amorette and Milady are sisters?"

"Lavender's Blue," (perhaps sometimes called "Lavender Blue,") is an English folk song and nursery rhyme dating to the 17th century.

Inheritance was recognized only in the male line, with a few exceptions (noblesse uterine) in the formerly independent provinces of Champagne, Lorraine and Brittany.

Amorette is a French name meaning Little Love. Du Guillory means powerful.