As he paced round the intricately laid out box-hedged garden, Joseph decided that enough was enough. The small box still hung conspicuously in his jacket pocket and, as the sun began to set over the hills, he decided he couldn't take any more of this anticipation.
Turning quickly, his heel crunching satisfyingly in the gravel, he made for her office.
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As for Clarisse, her day had gone from tiring to downright exhausting. It was just after six-thirty, and she and Charlotte had only just finished the arrangements for the evening dinner, before the ball…the final details of which still remained to be dealt with. She sighed loudly, raising a hand to her knitted brows. Yes, they were getting there…slowly, but it was all so exasperating. She glanced out of the window and noted ruefully the beauty of the sunset this evening.
Her legs were a little stiff when she finally stood from the desk, and Charlotte couldn't help but notice.
"You did take a break at lunch, didn't you, your Majesty?"
Clarisse was in a world of her own, and looking back distractedly at her assistant, only managed a mumble.
Charlotte repeated her question, this time a little more formally, and was unsurprised by Clarisse's response.
"It's alright Charlotte, I'm going to eat something now, I promise…"
Charlotte smiled, the concern still lingering in her eyes.
"Have we finished for this evening, my dear?"
"Yes, your Majesty, I think we have."
Clarisse smiled, some of the tension noticeably fading,
"So then, Charlotte, you may personally escort me to my dinner, if you so desire…."
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As they reached the main hall, Charlotte suddenly remembered the table settings and the music samples. For a moment she hesitated, not wanting to load more work onto the obviously already exhausted queen, but then, remembering their schedule, thought better of it,
"Um, your Majesty, there is still the music selections to be made, and then, if you have time, the place settings to be approved."
Glancing over at the table set out for her, Clarisse couldn't help but feel her heart sink a little. But she smiled politely and nodded to her aide. After all, it was hardly Charlotte's fault.
"Thank you, Charlotte…and I think that will be all."
As Charlotte trotted off to her dinner, no doubt, Clarisse cast her eye over the various options. To be honest, none particularly pleased her. The first was far too complex, ostentatious even…and the second, well, that just looked messy. No, really, they would not do. She sighed deeply. Another thing to deal with in the morning. Picking up a knife and holding it to the light, she wondered whether it had been polished recently. Not recently enough.
Rubbing her eyes, careful not to smudge her mascara, she found herself craving a strong cup of tea or, to be quite frank, an even stronger glass of whisky. Not yet though. As her fingers found the button on the expensive stereo, she couldn't help the smile which spread gently across her lips.
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As he pulled back the organza drape and stepped into the darkened room, Joseph smiled to himself. The music, their music, wafted in the air and spilled out into the corridor, and she was dancing by herself. For a moment he was transfixed, aware that she hadn't seen him, realising that this was finally it. Such perfection. He stood only for mere seconds, and yet to him it felt like an eternity, so lost was he in the sight before him. And now, knowing that she would be his, knowing that finally it would all be over, finally it might all be beginning…he could hardly dare to believe it. Her back was turned to him, then she spun elegantly, her eyes closed, her mind elsewhere.
In an instant he was taking her in his arms, his hand meeting hers, his arm pulling her close. Her eyes opened, and she smiled up at him, the momentary surprise quickly replaced with a look of complete contentment,
"Joseph…"
As his hand traced gentle spirals on her back, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering a moment longer, before whispering softly into her hair,
"Have you been thinking about us?"
His voice was rich, and he was thankful that emotion didn't cause it to crack. So much did he want to do this properly. For a moment she paused, and then stepping back slightly from his embrace, looked up to meet his gaze.
In an instant he knew something was wrong. There was surprise, panic almost, a hesitation that had just seconds ago had seemed impossible. His breath caught a little, and he felt her hand slide from his shoulder to press against his chest, unconsciously holding him at bay. He didn't understand.
"Yes, yes I have…"
Her eyes were concerned, and full of regret. Immediately his heart plummeted, and he had to look away. Tears burnt behind his eyes, from the shame, the disappointment…again and again he heard her cheerful words from that afternoon…but now all that was gone. He attempted a smile, but his mouth protested, his body no longer feeling entirely his own. How could she look at him like that after…after everything. Entirely confused, he simply nodded, perhaps rather too enthusiastically to be convincing, and pulled back, away from her intoxicating touch.
Still his mind would not process the situation, still he was dazed by her sudden change of heart, and something deep inside told him to run. Stepping back, beginning to turn, he felt her arm on his shoulder, her voice calling him. Blinking away the tears he looked at her, through her almost, reminding her mechanically of his duty. For a moment he faltered, revealing again his love for her, his hope, but then he checked himself. Turning sharply, this time successfully escaping her grasp, ignoring her pleas, he disappeared into the garden.
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Clutching the table Clarisse felt violently sick. Breathing deeply, desperately trying to calm herself, her mind raced to understand the scene that had just played out before her. Not for one second had she expected that…how could he, why now? Steadying herself, she turned and groped at the stereo, turning off the damned music. And yet the silence it left rang out far more loudly. Her hands were shaking visibly, and, although the nausea had passed, her head was literally spinning. Pushing away the ridiculous wedding settings, she sat down heavily, her head coming to rest on her crossed arms.
As her eyes slid shut she almost heard him return, almost felt his arms encircle her shoulders…almost heard him apologise and gently kiss her cheek. But only almost. Joseph was long gone and, for the first time in months, she wondered when he might return.
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After he had left the hall, Joseph had stormed through the palace and out into the back courtyard. To his relief it was deserted apart from a few stable hands. At the back of one of the old garages was his motorbike and, throwing off the cover and climbing on, he kicked it into action, burning off down the dusty track road before anyone even realised he was there.
As he rode down the lonely tracks, his mind began to process her words, her expression. Had he startled her? She had certainly seemed surprised. Was it not the proposal she had wanted? No, that couldn't be it. Had she changed her mind?
Shifting up a gear, he gunned the bike down a straight, pushing all thoughts from his mind…he would speak to Charlotte in the morning.
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Clarisse stared at the crumpets set before her and felt the tears welling again. Surely she couldn't cry any more? All evening she had been ensconced in her suite, refusing even to see Mia and Charlotte. At nine, Olivia had knocked gingerly and entered regardless of the silence, explaining that there was something set out for her to eat in the parlour. Looking up from her desk, her eyes distinctly red and swollen, Clarisse had asked calmly if Joseph had returned.
"No, your majesty, he's still out."
She hadn't pressed it, and Olivia had left quickly, relief plastered across her face.
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Just after midnight Joseph arrived back in the courtyard. He was exhausted and finally ready to sleep. His mind was simply too drained now to process any more of the days events, which had, of course, been his intention. Slinking back into the main building, he noticed a light was still on in the kitchens.
Deciding to get himself a nightcap, or indeed a whole bottle, he wandered towards the door. He was surprised to see her bent over the table, her obviously swollen eyes firmly closed, her hand still clasping the half-full glass of whisky. Eying the bottle suspiciously he wondered how many she had managed to get through before she'd passed out. He smiled in spite of himself. Dropping a kiss to her cheek, he quickly manoeuvred her from the chair and into his arms. It wouldn't do for the maids to catch her here in the morning.
It was a few seconds walk to her suite, and within a couple of minutes he had deposited her safely in her own bed. She hadn't stirred and, although his heart was racing in spite his better judgment, for that he was glad. Pulling the covers up around her, he gently kissed her forehead, and then fled before his resolve crumbled.
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Back in the parlour, he uncorked the whisky and poured himself a glass. Draining it in one fell swoop, he poured another, and another. Hell, if she could dump him and drink away her pain, so the bloody hell could he. Again he drank and, as the room began to spin a little, all he could think of was her face. That innocent face. As his eyes began to close, and he found himself nestling in to the table, the tears finally began to fall.
a/n If you can bear the terrible inconvenience, please review ;o)