Author's Notes: You know I love all types of reviews I get. Thanks everyone! You all give me the encouragement I need to write more. Hope you'll like where I take this one!

Um, I also learned that William is blond, TLW-wise. Hehe. I never saw 'Cave of Fear', but thanks to the spoiler I got, I saw for myself that he was. I was, like, 'Oh my God! I thought he has brown hair like John does!' So if you caught that one the last time… shush! Just between you and me, 'kay? ;p

*sigh* I hate debating. I really do. And the sucky thing here is that I have one this Saturday… and it's an impromptu debate! As if a planned one wasn't enough! *sigh*

Disclaimer: Nothing related to TLW belongs to me.

Dedication: This is to both TLWROX and veggie_5. You both have been there for me since day one – from the first chapter of my first story to this latest one. I appreciate your presence, truly. *wipes tear* Ahem. Excuse me for being sentimental there for a while… :)

Behold the Façade

Three

Marguerite tried to shrug off the feeling that she was being intently watched.

She casually walked towards the ballroom, head held high, a small smile held firmly in place. She had left Jerome and William to themselves at the garden for a while when another of their kind deliberately ignored her presence and talked to the men as if she was some type of invisible being. This man, this Earl Bennington, was almost as worse as the duke, for he kept on looking at William and at Jerome and never once attempted at making eye contact with her. So she took the initiative that Jerome had displayed a moment ago and left on her own.

What am I, a plague? A leper? Marguerite noted how the crowd seemed to part for her as she walked around, as if they were all disgusted at her for a reason she did not know of. She smiled at one man, an elderly at that, and he just moved his head and looked at another. She tried to smile at a young lady, but she just inched her nose up higher and stared back at her with contempt. Clearly, aside from William's and Jerome's, there were no other friendly faces on this crowd, and certainly, there will never be anyone bold enough to reach out and attempt to have a conversation with her.

Marguerite was fine with that.

It wasn't the first time that she had been treated like a diseased being.

She raised the glass of wine to her lips and took all its content. A servant passed by her, and he took her empty glass and replaced it with a full one. She smiled at this servant and, finally, she was rewarded when he smiled back.

And these people around her think they were the educated ones, when it was clear that they have no sense of courtesy and politeness!

She raised the glass of wine to her lips, and was about to drink when a rough, ragged voice spoke to her.

"Good evening."

Marguerite tried to hide her surprise at his boldness to speak to her when everybody else thought it was a sin.

She inclined her head at the stranger. "Good evening," she murmured.

The man only smiled at her in return. "Nice night, isn't it." He said.

She chuckled. "Nice." She echoed. Small talk, Marguerite thought. And I dared hope that he was as intelligent as he looked!

The stranger was as tall as they come, his head towering above all the women and most of the men. His hair was combed back to perfection, allowing one's eyes to feast on the curves that lined his face. Hard lines lined the areas around his mouth and eyes, but it didn't serve to make him look older. It made him look… distinguished.

Like William. Even she was surprised at the thought.

He took the glass of brandy to his lips and emptied it before he turned to her. "May I have this dance?" he asked.

Such audacity! Jerome's voice floated to her ears. Marguerite looked at the man before her, her eyes appraising, trying to judge what this man was worth, if he has any. She shook her head. "I'm afraid not," she murmured again.

The man was shocked, to say the very least. "Pardon?" he asked.

She offered him another smile, and she was pretty sure her face was going to ache with all the smiling that she did tonight. "I'm afraid not, Monsieur," she repeated delicately.

He persisted. "Aren't you alone?" He looked suggestively at the empty space beside her.

Marguerite was amused. "No, I'm not." She answered.

"But you are at this very instant, aren't you?"

Yes. Do let's point that out more often. "I am," she said, her tone taking on a more hard edge. "But I won't be the whole night."

He took a step closer to her. "One dance, Marguerite." He said to her.

That called her attention. "How did you know my name?" She said, straightening up.

Her only answer was a grin in return.

"Marguerite!"

She looked at the place where a familiar voice was calling her name. "William!" She answered.

William smiled handsomely as he spotted her in the shadows. "Why are you hiding in here?" he asked her as soon as he was very near.

Marguerite shook her head. "I'm not hiding," she denied. Unconsciously, she glanced at the stranger beside her, trying perhaps to rub it in his face that her escort has finally arrived, that finally, she wasn't alone.

She found, to her disappointment, that the place where the stranger was was now empty.

"Marguerite?"

She turned her eyes on him. "Hmm?"

"Dance with me?"

His answer was a brilliant smile in return.

*

He watched the woman intently as she danced in the arms of his brother.

Marguerite. The woman had a name, and it felt lovely as it slid past his lips.

John Roxton wasn't pleased with the result of his first test, yet at the same time, he was. It was a peculiar feeling, he thought. How… disappointing.

He watched her intently, and that was why he did not miss the way she seemed to be looking for something, the way her head seemed to move around in search for… him?

Ah. As if an answer to his query, the minute her eyes spotted his, she didn't look as if she was searching any longer. Instead, her lips quirked up in what seemed to be a triumphant smile as her eyes sought for a duel that he was wiling to give.

John lifted his glass of brandy at her, as if he was raising a toast in her honor.

She had passed the first test.

But how well will she be able to do the next…?

To be continued…