Author's Notes: Oh my! I'm overwhelmed by the reviews. Thanks a bunch, guys! You really do know how to feed my ego… *grin*
Seriously, though. I loved your reactions about the William Roxton twist. And that reminds me, the William Roxton in this fic will be *very* different from the William Roxton of TLW. I thought it would be extremely helpful to caution you about this, because I wouldn't want anyone to be confused. First off, in this demented fic of mine (you'll soon see why *grin*), William is younger than John. Second, William will have blond hair. And he will be younger than John. Oh, wait, I already said that. Sorry :) :) :)
So you see, I am really twisting TLW to make it fit in my own twisted world… it just seems to be more fun that way… :)
Disclaimer: Nothing related to TLW is mine. And that just plain sucks.
Behold the Façade
Two
"Truly lovely, indeed. You two would make a very beautiful couple."
William grinned at Jerome as he took Marguerite's hand and brought it to his lips. "If I didn't know any better, I'll say that that sounded almost genuine, Jerome. I'm touched."
Jerome straightened and fixed a mock glare at the young lord. "Is this the 'thank you' I get for introducing her to you, boy?"
Marguerite chuckled. "William is hardly a boy, Jerome." She said, her tone full of sarcasm as she glanced at him. "You, of all people, should know that."
They heard a few quick gasps after what she had declared, and Marguerite soon noticed that she had become the target for even more curious stares and dubious glances of the men and women around her.
As if the silent treatment wasn't enough. She thought, sighing inwardly. Marguerite found it hard to cover the agitation that was eating at her from showing itself in her expression.
She had been chagrined when she smiled and beamed at the crowd, and they frowned and grimaced at her in return. Clearly, they are displeased with who – or what – they had seen in her. It was obvious, from the varying expressions they wore on their faces, that they thought her to be an unfit and inappropriate bride-to-be for the distinguished lord. Of all the possible assign—
"Marguerite?" William's voice pulled her from her thoughts and brought her back to the present. "Marguerite? Are you alright?"
"Hmm? Oh, um," Marguerite gently shook her head and then smiled at him. "I'm sorry. I was preoccupied. It must be the bright lights." She motioned at the chandeliers above them. "It's too… bright."
"Which is hardly the word you'd use to describe the people around here, am I right?" Jerome asked her pointedly, his green eyes staring directly at hers.
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Sometimes," she told him, "just sometimes, I think that you know me better than I know myself, Lord Duncan."
William lifted his hand and brought it to the small of her back. "Do you want us to leave?" he asked, concern coloring his baritone voice.
She shook her head again. "No, no. Don't worry about me. This is your party, William. I would not want your admirers to be deprived of seeing you at the last night of your being a bachelor."
"Quite a mouthful, Marguerite." Jerome said. A servant passed by them, his hands full with the plate he was carrying. Jerome nodded at him, then took three glasses of wine from the servant's load. He gave one to William, and then the other to Marguerite. She accepted hers very willingly.
"Are you certain?" William asked again. "If you want to, we could—"
Marguerite smiled, and then patted his cheek with her hand. "I'm fine, love." She muttered. "Don't worry too much."
William didn't look convinced, though. "Well, if you are—"
"Lord Roxton!"
Three heads whipped at the sound of the voice.
"Duke Richtford!" William greeted the newcomer with a tight smile adorning his handsome face. "How nice of you to come."
"Where are your lovely daughters?" Jerome asked shrewdly, ignoring the pained look that William sent his way.
"Yes, yes, indeed." Duke Richtford acknowledged Jerome's presence with a brief nod. "My daughters are the main reason why I came here in the first place." He then pinned William with a deathly glare.
"Oh, you mean Gertrude and Gretchen?" Marguerite asked suddenly.
The duke looked at her contemptuously, as if he could not even begin to fathom the reason why he was even tolerating her presence in the first place. "Lord Roxton, may I suggest a more private place to conduct our discussion?"
William looked at Jerome, then at Marguerite, before he finally turned his eyes on the elderly. "I could not see the reason why we cannot discuss here, Duke Richtford."
The duke opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut abruptly. He sent another scathing glance at Marguerite's way. "Well, if you must know—"
"If you must excuse us," Jerome said as he stepped in between the other men. "William, I am going to borrow your lovely bride-to-be for a little while. I sense that Duke Richtford's reason is of utmost importance."
"That is greatly appreciated, Lord Duncan." Duke Richtford said pointedly. Jerome merely nodded at him.
"Love," Marguerite said as she placed a hand on his arm. "We will be at the garden." She then turned to look at the duke. "Please give the duchess my regards." She ignored the cry that came out of the duke's mouth as she took Jerome's hand and walked out of the ballroom.
As soon as they stepped onto the garden, Jerome could not help the laugh that came out from him. "Marguerite! Such audacity! To mock the duke like that?"
"Oh, please. Like he did not mock me first." She said blithely. "A kind remark deserves another."
"As much as a scathing remark would?"
Marguerite nodded. "Precisely. Or even more so." She then proceeded to sit on one of the benches that lined the spacious garden. "I've always wondered why the duchess left him. Now I know. He is such a pompous ass!"
Jerome clucked his tongue. "Language, Marguerite. Now is not the time to strip yourself of the manners that you've worked so hard to acquire."
Silence then reigned between them.
Suddenly, Marguerite stood up. "Any word?" she asked in a hushed voice.
All the laughter in his face disappeared as soon as she spoke in that serious tone of hers. "Not yet." He answered. "But he said to wait for it. If not tonight, then—"
She began to pace. "Jerome, I'm to be married tomorrow! If I were to—"
"Marguerite, Jerome!"
They both looked at the approaching Lord Roxton.
"We'll talk about this later." Marguerite mouthed to Jerome. She then gave William her brightest smile. "Hello, love. How did your conversation with Duke Richtford go?" She asked, all the seriousness in her face banished in an instant.
*
He had become either too skilled in camouflaging himself as he blended with the shadows, or too unpopular as he noticed that no one even acknowledged his presence in the engagement celebration of his beloved brother.
Either way, Lord John Roxton was glad, because it gave him more time to be reacquainted with the society that he happily left behind five years ago.
With a glass of brandy firmly in his hands, he decided to walk around the grand house of Lord Jerome Duncan. Personally, he knew nothing much about the lord, only that he was a very good and close friend of his brother. If he recalled correctly, William often described Jerome as "the untypical radical."
John offered a smile at two young women whom he had caught staring at him with youthful admiration on their faces. It happened so fast it was rather comical; these two women blushed a deep red, then turned around and walked away from him. He shook his head in amusement. It's not always that William attracts the most beautiful of women.
At the thought, he let his eyes wander around, trying to spot a certain red-clothed brunette with wide grey eyes and wild hair. One sweep over the majestic house and he instantly knew that his prey wasn't there. In fact, another sweep more and he found to himself that his brother wasn't there, too.
He grimaced. William must be where his woman is. Poor boy, he's always the fool when it comes to beautiful women.
There was something about the woman that had John question his brother's senses when it comes to choosing a suitable bride. Was it the fact that she was older than William? Was it the fact that she was a new face in the crowd? John couldn't tell. But there was something… something amiss, something that told his instincts to never trust the woman anything, let alone the life of his brother. As a hunter, he never doubted his instincts as it had never failed him before.
With this Marguerite, he sure as hell's going to trust them now.
Just then, a flash of red caught his eye. John Roxton followed it, and smiled at what he saw.
The woman was alone. He had neither William nor Jerome beside her.
Now was the time to test whether or not his instincts were true.
To be continued…