Marguerite suppressed a laugh that she couldn't help, even with Chauvelin's words tormenting her thoughts. In quick French, before turning to her husband, "The subject is closed, Chauvelin! And if you so much as lay a finger on my husband I'll-" she let her words hang ominously in the air. As an afterthought, in polite, careful English, she placed one more question over Chauvelin's head: "How long will you be saying with us, Monsieur?" It was not an invitation: anyone listening, even, perhaps, her husband could tell that. But how Chauvelin took it was quite another matter.
And she still wanted to talk to Percy alone…apologize, and maybe-maybe he'd understand. If she'd told the old Percy about Chauvelin, his blackmail and accusations, he'd have known what to do in a second. He'd have helped her.
In response to her threat Chauvelin's eyes darted to Marguerite dangerously, narrowing in so vicious a reply that he couldn't voice it in the presence of her husband. Clenching his fist so hard in frustration it nearly trembled; Chauvelin's voice was heavily restrained as he bent to retrieve his hat. "I apologize, Madame, but I'm afraid not long. I will be staying in London." Stiffly he turned back to Marguerite, fixing her with an angry stare that could have pierced glass. "But I would like to return for another visit...very soon." A curt bow to Marguerite, and Chauvelin adorned his hat, turned sharply on his heel, and stalked out back towards the front door he had come through. In doing so he passed by Percy, who stood leaning casually against one of the taller chairs with a devil-may-care grin, his blue eyes casually following Chauvelin's dark form as he swept by him.
"Leaving so soon?" he feigned a pout. Chauvelin stopped, turning his gaze sharply to the tall Englishman. "Not even going to stay for the refreshments?"
"Pardon et moi, Sir," Chauvelin nodded coldly. "But I have pressing business." Over his shoulder he glanced back at Marguerite, but only for a moment. "You are a very lucky man, Monsieur Blakeney. Au revoir."
Percy shrugged at the excuse, fluttering his hand as the Frenchman passed on by. "Ah well, toodle pip then, Shoveling." And he followed the comment with another playful slap on the backside.
"Chauvelin!" he snarled, vanishing from sight while ruefully rubbing the seat of his trousers. Shortly after was the slam of the heavy front door, and when the tell-tale sounds of horse hooves and carriage wheels rumbled off in the distance Percy doubled over and slapped his thigh, laughing furiously. "Oh ho ho! My dear! You have the most charming friends!" Straightening, his smile was warm and genuine as his eyes turned to his wife, bright and shining with the rapture of remembering how she had refused that rogue's proposition. He could trust her... "Oh, Marguerite," he hummed happily, and strode the short distance to her swiftly to throw his arms about her in an affectionate hug, never bothering to explain himself. How he loved this woman!
Marguerite hugged him back, cautiously, but not before smiling sweetly at the departing Chauvelin. "Do make it soon. Your visits are so entertaining." Waiting until the black-clothed figure was well out the slammed door, Marguerite turned back to Percy and pulled a little away. "Percy, you are my husband, c'est correct?" she paused, and added, a little hesitantly; "And I can tell you anything..?" Normally, because of the events and his actions of the past few-Weeks? Months?-but the fact that this was an emergency, coupled with his sudden change of demeanor, encouraged her to tell him. If he gave her the idiotic reply she half-expected, she would make something else up…but she was hopeful. And Chauvelin's words had sent a chill through her heart. Would he really have her husband killed? Could he? All of their actions aside, she loved him. Maybe in the beginning it had been the thrill of being loved passionately and unconditionally...but since his sudden coldness, she found that she did love him, English turkey or not.
Percy was so lost in gazing at her face, keeping his arms around her waist as though refusing to let her go even if she were to pull away, that he barely heard her words. He could have stayed there forever, just looking at her. His warm smile faded slightly at her question, the bluntness of it and how awkward it seemed. "Of course, Madame. Anything your little heart desires." But inwardly he hesitated. What had made her ask such a thing? Perhaps it was the gravity of the conversation he'd overheard that planted the suggestion in his mind. What did she plan on telling him? About what Chauvelin had said? About his position in the League of the Pimpernel? As the Pimpernel?! Worry gave way to alarm, but the same grin of pure happiness remained plastered on his face. If she did ask, what would he tell her? He could laugh it off as he always did, play the fool, and yet that would only ruin this precious moment: drive the wedge between them. And yet if he told her...it would put her in such danger. The threats Chauvelin had directed towards him would fall over her, too. How could he do that to her? Put her in that kind of danger? No...oh Lord, if only he had never fallen in love! It would make things so much easier...and yet Percival Blakeney wouldn't trade his love with Marguerite for anything. He only wanted to protect her. "What is it, dear?"
Marguerite smiled back, waveringly, suddenly unsure. If she asked? If he said yes? Oh God! "Well..." she began, choosing her words carefully, not withdrawing from his embrace, "Chauvelin was here, and... he wanted me to... Percy, he wants me to betray the Scarlet Pimpernel. I don't even know who he is, I promise-and I told him no, I wouldn't help...except he seems to think that you're part of the league and...and... Oh, Percy, don't go back to France, Chauvelin said he'd...he'd have you killed… and I wouldn't be able to bear it if you never came back. I would kill myself!" panting for breath after this outburst, a couple of tears welled up in her eyes. Had she made the right choice, sending Chauvelin away? Or should she have protected her husband? Would Chauvelin actually try anything? Should she have told Percy at all? For once she had no idea, for anything, and she closed her eyes against the questions.
If there was hesitance before, now Percy was entirely frozen. Smile fading gradually at the memory of what he had heard between the conversation of her and that man, he remembered what he had told her. She had opened up the topic he had most dreaded, and if he had previously thought of any kind of excuse he couldn't remember it now. Sighing, he gazed into her face. So beautiful...how could he lie to her? How could he drive them apart and inflict so much pain? He'd done enough of that already. Yet he couldn't tell her the truth...for both their sakes. At this paradox Percy found himself standing: he couldn't lie to her, couldn't tell her the truth...what should he say?
He didn't say anything.
As her eyes closed Percy watched the peaceful look of sleep about her childlike, innocent face. He had never had many opportunities to see her asleep, even if she still stood, and yet she looked so serene...like an angel. Percy wouldn't let words soil anything, and so rather than replying he leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead. Then letting his arms about her waist relax he pulled away, turned on his heel, and walked out. Just like that. He walked out, not a word spoken, and didn't stop until he had gone from the room and the heavy oak door to his study was closed behind him.
Marguerite did as she always did; fled to the sanctuary of the room she shared with no one.
And she still wanted to talk to Percy alone…apologize, and maybe-maybe he'd understand. If she'd told the old Percy about Chauvelin, his blackmail and accusations, he'd have known what to do in a second. He'd have helped her.
In response to her threat Chauvelin's eyes darted to Marguerite dangerously, narrowing in so vicious a reply that he couldn't voice it in the presence of her husband. Clenching his fist so hard in frustration it nearly trembled; Chauvelin's voice was heavily restrained as he bent to retrieve his hat. "I apologize, Madame, but I'm afraid not long. I will be staying in London." Stiffly he turned back to Marguerite, fixing her with an angry stare that could have pierced glass. "But I would like to return for another visit...very soon." A curt bow to Marguerite, and Chauvelin adorned his hat, turned sharply on his heel, and stalked out back towards the front door he had come through. In doing so he passed by Percy, who stood leaning casually against one of the taller chairs with a devil-may-care grin, his blue eyes casually following Chauvelin's dark form as he swept by him.
"Leaving so soon?" he feigned a pout. Chauvelin stopped, turning his gaze sharply to the tall Englishman. "Not even going to stay for the refreshments?"
"Pardon et moi, Sir," Chauvelin nodded coldly. "But I have pressing business." Over his shoulder he glanced back at Marguerite, but only for a moment. "You are a very lucky man, Monsieur Blakeney. Au revoir."
Percy shrugged at the excuse, fluttering his hand as the Frenchman passed on by. "Ah well, toodle pip then, Shoveling." And he followed the comment with another playful slap on the backside.
"Chauvelin!" he snarled, vanishing from sight while ruefully rubbing the seat of his trousers. Shortly after was the slam of the heavy front door, and when the tell-tale sounds of horse hooves and carriage wheels rumbled off in the distance Percy doubled over and slapped his thigh, laughing furiously. "Oh ho ho! My dear! You have the most charming friends!" Straightening, his smile was warm and genuine as his eyes turned to his wife, bright and shining with the rapture of remembering how she had refused that rogue's proposition. He could trust her... "Oh, Marguerite," he hummed happily, and strode the short distance to her swiftly to throw his arms about her in an affectionate hug, never bothering to explain himself. How he loved this woman!
Marguerite hugged him back, cautiously, but not before smiling sweetly at the departing Chauvelin. "Do make it soon. Your visits are so entertaining." Waiting until the black-clothed figure was well out the slammed door, Marguerite turned back to Percy and pulled a little away. "Percy, you are my husband, c'est correct?" she paused, and added, a little hesitantly; "And I can tell you anything..?" Normally, because of the events and his actions of the past few-Weeks? Months?-but the fact that this was an emergency, coupled with his sudden change of demeanor, encouraged her to tell him. If he gave her the idiotic reply she half-expected, she would make something else up…but she was hopeful. And Chauvelin's words had sent a chill through her heart. Would he really have her husband killed? Could he? All of their actions aside, she loved him. Maybe in the beginning it had been the thrill of being loved passionately and unconditionally...but since his sudden coldness, she found that she did love him, English turkey or not.
Percy was so lost in gazing at her face, keeping his arms around her waist as though refusing to let her go even if she were to pull away, that he barely heard her words. He could have stayed there forever, just looking at her. His warm smile faded slightly at her question, the bluntness of it and how awkward it seemed. "Of course, Madame. Anything your little heart desires." But inwardly he hesitated. What had made her ask such a thing? Perhaps it was the gravity of the conversation he'd overheard that planted the suggestion in his mind. What did she plan on telling him? About what Chauvelin had said? About his position in the League of the Pimpernel? As the Pimpernel?! Worry gave way to alarm, but the same grin of pure happiness remained plastered on his face. If she did ask, what would he tell her? He could laugh it off as he always did, play the fool, and yet that would only ruin this precious moment: drive the wedge between them. And yet if he told her...it would put her in such danger. The threats Chauvelin had directed towards him would fall over her, too. How could he do that to her? Put her in that kind of danger? No...oh Lord, if only he had never fallen in love! It would make things so much easier...and yet Percival Blakeney wouldn't trade his love with Marguerite for anything. He only wanted to protect her. "What is it, dear?"
Marguerite smiled back, waveringly, suddenly unsure. If she asked? If he said yes? Oh God! "Well..." she began, choosing her words carefully, not withdrawing from his embrace, "Chauvelin was here, and... he wanted me to... Percy, he wants me to betray the Scarlet Pimpernel. I don't even know who he is, I promise-and I told him no, I wouldn't help...except he seems to think that you're part of the league and...and... Oh, Percy, don't go back to France, Chauvelin said he'd...he'd have you killed… and I wouldn't be able to bear it if you never came back. I would kill myself!" panting for breath after this outburst, a couple of tears welled up in her eyes. Had she made the right choice, sending Chauvelin away? Or should she have protected her husband? Would Chauvelin actually try anything? Should she have told Percy at all? For once she had no idea, for anything, and she closed her eyes against the questions.
If there was hesitance before, now Percy was entirely frozen. Smile fading gradually at the memory of what he had heard between the conversation of her and that man, he remembered what he had told her. She had opened up the topic he had most dreaded, and if he had previously thought of any kind of excuse he couldn't remember it now. Sighing, he gazed into her face. So beautiful...how could he lie to her? How could he drive them apart and inflict so much pain? He'd done enough of that already. Yet he couldn't tell her the truth...for both their sakes. At this paradox Percy found himself standing: he couldn't lie to her, couldn't tell her the truth...what should he say?
He didn't say anything.
As her eyes closed Percy watched the peaceful look of sleep about her childlike, innocent face. He had never had many opportunities to see her asleep, even if she still stood, and yet she looked so serene...like an angel. Percy wouldn't let words soil anything, and so rather than replying he leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead. Then letting his arms about her waist relax he pulled away, turned on his heel, and walked out. Just like that. He walked out, not a word spoken, and didn't stop until he had gone from the room and the heavy oak door to his study was closed behind him.
Marguerite did as she always did; fled to the sanctuary of the room she shared with no one.
