Seventeen year-old Élise de la Serre strolled through lantern-lit gardens, as twilight swiftly descended upon the grand Château de Versailles.

Several young ladies close to her age walked slightly behind her, immersed in their own gossip as Élise paced ahead, detached from the conversation, lost in her own thoughts.

It was the birthday celebration of the youngest daughter of one of Versailles' higher-ranking aristocratic families, also her coming-of-age party. The most noble and prestigious families had been invited – and, as etiquette demanded, François de la Serre and his young daughter Élise counted themselves among the esteemed guests.

The festivities and extravagance lasted all day. Bubbling champagne fountains, white horse carriage rides, jugglers and acrobats and fire-breathers entertained the elegant guests, true to Versailles ' pomp and grandeur.

Now it was evening, and the dances and dinner had concluded. The guests had retired to the Château's rose gardens, waiting to watch the fireworks.

But Élise was bored. Making shallow small-talk, laughing at gentlemen's unfunny jokes, and taking dainty, ladylike steps in her stiff, corseted dress all day left her feeling drained and exhausted. She was glad the day was nearly over. Soon she could go home. Perhaps, if she didn't return too late, she could even meet with Arno – just one minute of conversation with him would make up for the hours of trite talk she had to endure today.

But as Élise stopped to lightly touch a rose blossom, she realized her companions were talking to her.

"What do you think, Élise?" Sophie de la Croix said, raising a questioning eyebrow. Élise met her gaze blankly, trying to remember what threads of conversation she happened to overhear, but she really hadn't been paying any attention.

"What do you mean?"

Sophie rolled her eyes impatiently and asked, "Do you think Antoine and I are a good match?"

Élise blinked, then smiled politely, the words she knew Sophie wanted to hear already on her lips. "Why, of course, Sophie! Anyone can see how happy you two are together. You would be the envy of Versailles. I can't wait to see how beautiful your wedding will be."

Sophie smiled triumphantly, pleased with this answer, and Élise was about to turn away and tune out the conversation again when Isabelle, the youngest of their group, turned her inquisitive eyes up to Élise and asked, "And are you spoken for, Élise?"

Élise stopped in her tracks.

Sophie exchanged snide, knowing glances with the rest of the girls in the group, who were native to Versailles, and were more well-versed in local gossip than Lyonese Isabelle.

"Isabelle dear, Élise won't give any man the time of day!" Sophie said with relish, shooting Élise a challenging glance, as if she were dangling bait. "She has – how shall we call it …" here Sophie lowered her voice in a dramatic whisper, " – a kept man ."

The other girls in the group giggled delightedly, excited that they might get to hear firsthand details of some torrid, scandalous love affair.

But Élise merely smiled. "Sophie, I told you those were just rumours."

"Oh, come now, Élise – tell us about him! We all know you have a man at your chateau. That servant boy your father adopted. What was his name again? Armand?"

Élise didn't like the way Sophie said, 'servant boy', but kept silent, knowing Sophie deliberately got the name wrong so that Élise would correct her. But she reined in her temper. Instead, Élise feigned the bashfulness of a nun sworn to celibacy and said, "Oh my, Sophie! You make my life sound so much more interesting than it actually is! My studies abroad hardly give me any time to think about things like that, and most gentlemen find my company quite dull when they realize all I can talk about are books."

There, Élise thought, that should settle my contribution to this pointless conversation, and she was just about to turn away again when Isabelle – dear, sweet Isabelle, whose innocence made her blissfully unaware of the tense atmosphere – said quite earnestly, "Oh! But Élise! You should hear what all the gentlemen say about you! They keep on going on how pretty and funny and clever you are. Surely there must be someone who has caught your attention?"

Damn it, Élise thought, feeling her smile become more strained as she felt the burning stares coming from all around her – except from Isabelle, who continued to look at Élise in a doting mixture of curiosity and admiration. Now Élise was the center of attention, something she knew – from her dark expression – was something Sophie resented. Her plan to mock Élise had failed spectacularly.

"Ah, oh, hmm. Do they really say that about me?" Élise said vaguely, as she quickly searched for ways to divert their attention elsewhere. But just at that moment, her rescue came: raindrops began to softly patter down onto their heads, and the muffled sound of thunder rumbled in the distance.

"It's raining! " Sophie cried out, and the other girls shrieked as they clutched at their skirts and ran across the garden. The rain soon grew in strength, and they scrambled to get under shelter before they muddied their silk shoes. There would be no fireworks tonight.

At the back of her head, Élise once again heard Isabelle's little voice: "And are you spoken for, Élise?"

Élise grinned, broadly and widely, in a way that would have been considered unrefined for a genteel lady of her status. But Élise didn't care. The exhilaration of running through the rain, the wind whipping through her hair, and breathing in sweet, heady scent of roses recalled another memory – a secret memory she cherished, and would not share with her companions no matter how much they pressed and cajoled.

She wanted to laugh out loud and shout it to the winds.

Yes! Yes, and his name is Arno!

When we first met, he was just a quiet, gentle boy we met at the Palace.

I had taken an instant liking to him. I dared him to steal an apple right under the guards' noses, and he'd complied beautifully. Strange affairs that occurred right after resulted in him staying with our family from that day onwards.

I enjoyed having him with me. He was clever, he was funny, and he always seemed to know what I was thinking without me having to tell him. When I was together with him, I felt at ease; like I did not need to pretend to be someone else to impress him.

He made me feel less alone.

I suppose, throughout our childhoods, I subconsciously schemed to monopolize Arno's affections. And I suppose this must have manifested in a certain unhealthy zeal to cause as much trouble and go on as many adventures as possible, so he would always pay attention to me. I feel I owe an apology to all our caretakers for putting up with the trouble we gave them.

But my selfish little plans were richly rewarded – Arno never left my side.

The blissful memories of our childhood blur and swirl together like golden, rosy watercolour paintings. If I try to pinpoint the exact moment when I realized that my sweet-natured childhood friend would be the man I would eventually give my heart to, and I would always drift back to the same memory.

A memory in the rain. The sweet scent of roses was in the air.

We were merely sixteen, I was at home in Versailles for the summer. Arno and I were running, running out into a cold torrent of rain. Just a few minutes earlier, I had just dared Arno to steal the wig off our footman's head without him noticing, and – needless to say – the footman did notice.

We splashed across muddy puddles and through rows of rose bushes, our clothes utterly ruined by the mud and thorns and rain. Arno had his coat held up high over both our heads, trying to shield us from the downpour.

"The gazebo!" I called out, spying shelter up ahead. We knew we had lost the footman far behind us, and he probably would not have attempted to chase us through such weather and risk spoiling his expensive boots. Giggling like children, we raced towards the lone gazebo at the edge of the rose garden, stopping to catch our breath and to dry out our drenched clothes.

"We lost him," Arno announced triumphantly, shaking the rain from out of his jacket. Droplets of water danced through the air and caught the light like diamonds. He flashed me a smile, and like a street magician, he whipped out the stolen wig from his coat pocket. It sat, sodden and wet and grey in his hand, and I burst out laughing – it was just so wonderfully ridiculous and I couldn't believe Arno just took me up on my silly dare.

I secretly dread the day that Arno would grow tired of humoring my little amusements. I have seen him bored and impatient with the other boys, and sometimes the thought of being at the receiving end of his dark, sullen looks troubles me. There were times I would be abroad for months on end – travelling from one end of the country to the other, or spending weeks in Paris – and even though we would exchange letters, the moment I arrived home in Versailles I would have that small moment of worry before our eventual reunion – where I wonder in suspense if the time and the distance had pulled him away from me.

But always, the moment he'd see me, Arno would smile and greet me with some silly, teasing remark – and it would feel as if I had never left.

I did not realize I had been staring at him, lost in thought, until he met my gaze. "Are you cold?" he asked, combing the wet tangles out of his hair.

"What?"

"You're shivering."

I noticed I was indeed shivering. I sneezed, and realized it would not do well for me to catch a cold now. "I hope this rain lets up soon," I said, staring up at the sky. I was due to go abroad the next day, and I needed to be fit for travel. A cold would be disastrous.

"This is what happens when you come up with the escape plan," he teased, and I kicked him lightly in the shins.

Arno laughed – and I knew, with a small twisting pain, that I would dearly miss the sound of his laughter when I was away again. If only I could bottle it up and listen to it whenever I missed home, I thought.

Arno brought his coat out again and threw me a questioning glance. As I nodded, he drew it over my shoulders, providing a bit of warmth. Though it was damp, I felt a bit better.

"You get under here, too," I invited, and then both of us were squeezed awkwardly under his coat, with Arno's arm around my shoulders. The both of us were close enough that we were comfortable in each other's company – we would dance together at parties, and he'd casually let me hold onto his arm. Sometimes he would let me tie up his hair, and he'd massage my tired feet when I had been on my toes all day. We'd been this close since we were children, and it seemed almost nothing to us.

But these days I realized that getting physically closer to him now made my pulse quicken and heat rise to my face – I tried to avoid looking into his eyes during these times, because I quickly found myself losing my train of thought.

Arno, too, seemed to be affected in some way – we both were struck by a prolonged, mutual silence, and I felt the need to break the awkwardness somehow.

"I can't believe this time tomorrow, I'm to be back at Maison Royale," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "It's deathly boring there. I wish I could bring you with me."

Arno grinned. "Sounds perfect. I'll pack my bags tonight."

I met his grin with one of my own. "Yes, brilliant plan, Arno. They'd be talking about the scandal for decades! I will be sent to the abbey and live the rest of my life as a nun, while my father will be forced to move to the colonies of New France in shame."

Without missing a beat Arno continued, "I'm surprised this hasn't happened already," and I couldn't hold back my laughter.

"Perhaps I could smuggle you in," I told him, my heart now tickled with this new fancy. "With you by my side, I could wreak twice as much havoc at Maison Royale as I do now!"

"I hardly think that's what your father sent you there for," he replied, laughing in earnest now.

I looked at him, and this time I really looked – and I knew, instinctively, that memory of him – rain-drenched, laughing, his dark eyes twinkling in mirth – would stay in my mind forever.

"I really wish you could come with me," I said, softly.

I did not expect it would come out sounding so sad, or so lonely – I was surprised, myself, wondering if I had really been keeping these feelings bottled up for so long.

Arno turned his gaze on me. He did not say anything, but the way he looked at me was suddenly attentive and unrestrained; as if he were saying a thousand things at once. As I met his eyes I found myself being very aware how dark they were under his lashes.

"Élise," he whispered, so soft I barely heard it. There seemed no sweeter sound, I thought, than hearing my name being called from his lips.

I drew closer. I felt heat rising from my neck to my face; the warm tingling on my skin and the quiet hammering of my heart. He smelt wonderful.

And it happened like the most natural thing in the world – the space between us quickly disappeared. I kissed him, and he kissed me, and the rain continued to pour around us in a magnificent grey hush, as if washing all the world away.

The kiss did not last very long – but as we pulled away, I felt as if all the scattered pieces of my life had fallen together. Of course. This made perfect sense. Why did I not realize sooner? He was for me, and I was for him. Why would it be any other way?

Without speaking another word, we drew closer and kissed again. His arm circled my waist and I pressed against him. I cupped his cheek in the palm of my hand. His lips lingered on mine until I could almost memorize the sensation of them. Oh, this feels so good, I thought, and before I could stop myself, a moan escaped my throat.

Arno pulled away. He searched my eyes; but I must have been smiling because he smiled delightedly back.

"Did you plan this?" he asked.

"Did you?" I dared back, knowing the colour rising to my cheeks now gave me quite an unflattering blush. I tried to turn away, but Arno took my hand.

"Either way," he murmured gently, "it was a really good plan." And I caught such a surge of emotion in his voice. Was it happiness? Relief?

I wanted to laugh. Did you honestly think I would have chosen anyone else but you? I wanted to say, but instead I bit my lip, unable to form the words.

But after a moment, something occurred to me. "You seemed pretty good at it," I said, pulling my hand away and crossing my arms. "How many times did you practice on the village girls before you finally tried it on me?"

He smiled – there was a brief moment where his gaze was so sweet and tender, causing the breath to catch in my throat – before his demeanor turned teasing again. "I swear to you, Élise de la Serre, you have robbed me of my very first kiss. Count that chief among the absurd list of accomplishments you've already earned."

I couldn't stop myself from smiling. With any other man, I would have kept up appearances, and demurely hid my unbecoming grin behind a fan and turned away, but with Arno I did not want to hide my joy. He took my hand again, and this time I didn't pull away.

Arno looked around. "The rain has stopped," he observed quietly. "They would be looking for us by now. We should head back –"

I reached out and seized his collar with one hand, tilting his face back to me with the other.

"They can wait," I answered back, and pulled him in for another kiss.

It could have been storming hurricanes, and all of King Louis' armies could be hunting us down, but at that moment all I cared for was nothing but this moment: being with the man I loved, knowing that he loved me back, among the rain and the roses.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Special thanks to toonanimals for helping beta-read this for me! 3