Disclaimer: I am not owning Hellsing, but the original plots are being mine! (Unless you've ever seen Chilly Beach, you probably won't get this, it's a Constable Al reference (I don't own him either, but he's pretty funny!))
A/N: Hey y'all! How's it going? I'm still good. Just a warning, chapters may not be going up too fast because I'm hitting exam time soon and I have to start studying, so consider yourself warned! Anywhosies… this chapter is a little different from the other one, and I know that it almost seems original… BUT IT'S NOT! This is just the other side of the story, and once again I'm just getting some plot out of the way. It will all make sense later, and I hope it's more interesting then the first chapter (if you like the first chapter… VIRTUAL HUG! You rock! I tried to make it interesting, but it was kinda hard!) But anyways, this chapter takes place in 18th or 19th century France. I tried to give hints, but it didn't work out to well, so I'll just tell ya now! Well… I'm talking too much again and we gotta get this story rolling so… TOOTLES FOR NOW!
Chapter 2 – Antoinette
"She really is the bell of the ball" or "That young lady is most definitely going to marry well" were comments that constantly followed her.
As a young girl she was clumsy and awkward, a true diamond in the rough. But, as diamonds are, she was perfected into the young lady the young men all flock to, and all the men of the court talk about. However, did she enjoy the attention, the envy of the other girls? Or would she rather have left it all behind for someone?
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"Antoinette, sit up straight! Put your shoulders back! Have you no pride in yourself!" If I gave her the answer she would get Papa involved, and I do so hate making him angry with me. So, I listen to her accusing shouts silently, and obey.
Obey obey obey is all anyone can tell me. As a girl I'm told to obey Papa, obey Madame Bardeau my governess, obey Jean my older brother, and when I finally do marry I'll have to obey whatever man Papa chooses for me. But, such is the life of the daughter of a French Monarch. My Papa is a distant cousin of the King, and a prosperous businessman in Paris.
"Antoinette are you even listening to me!"
"I am sorry Madame."
"You foolish child, can't you do anything right!" I can feel my eyes filling with tears. I don't like to be scolded, or told I'm useless, but Madame Bardeau seems to think it progressive.
"Now, since you lack in etiquette, let us try writing. Rewrite every letter in this book into your notebook." She gives me a sadistic smirk. There are over 100 letters, and I have only re-copied 15 so far. I look at her in awe.
"All of them Madame?"
"Did you not hear me, you stupid girl! Your father hired me to make you into a lady, do you wish to disappoint him!"
"No Madame."
"They write, or I will have to tell him of your serious misconducts!" I lower my head to the writing desk where I am sitting. These letters will take hours to recopy.
I have always been told not to hate, by church, by Papa, and most importantly by, by Mama, but Madame comes closer to my hate then any other person has. Oh how I miss Mama. She would not have allowed this verbal abuse from Madame Bardeau to continue. But I should be writing so as not to anger Madame again.
I've written for about an hour (Madame left the room after 10 minutes) when Jean comes in.
"Nettie, what's that old bat got you doing this time?"
"Jean! You shouldn't speak that way of people, it's rude!"
"I hear the way she talks to you. I've tried to tell Papa, but he won't hear anything of it." I smile. It's nice to have someone on my side, and Jean is allowed to be so much more verbal then me. "Would you care to go for a walk? It's a beautiful day."
"But Jean, I cannot. I have too much work to do."
"So do I, but everyone deserves a break every now and then." With that, he grabs my arm and drags me to the front door. I will admit, a walk is very tempting right now, but what if we should be caught?
"Jean, we really shouldn't! What if—what if we're caught?" I say in a rush as he drags me out the door and crams a parasol into my hands.
"Oh you're too proper, lighten up sis." I glower at him. He doesn't know the half of it. He Papa's apprentice, so when he's out with Papa I'm being put through my paces with social graces and high manners. At first, it was enough to make one want to scream. But, after a while you learn it is better to submit to it then to fight against it and anger Papa. Jean never understood this, and still does a lot of fighting for me.
"May I buy you a financier?" (French Almond Cake)
We're walking down a sunny, tree-lined street now, and I must say that I am enjoying myself. But what will Madame say when she finds me gone? It's best not to think about it.
"Alright." We walk up to a small bakery, Jean makes the purchases, and we stroll to the park. I take a seat on a bench and he joins me.
"So Nettie, how are your studies going?"
"Quite fine, thank you."
"They trained you to say that, didn't they?"
"No—"
"Jean Robichaud? Is that you?" I look up to see a young lady, about Jeans age, standing in front of me. Jean stands up.
"Louise? Wow it's good to see you."
"And who is this?" She waves her hand in my direction.
"That's my sister, Antoinette."
"Will she be attending the ball tomorrow night?" Just as I thought, either she's noble, or her family has connections. They must if she knows Jean. Papa only lets us associate with the best of the best, heritage wise.
"As far as I know, yes."
"She looks like a doll, what a sweet child." Now I'm tired of this. I get up.
"I beg your pardon mademoiselle, but I am not a child. I am 15, and Jean, I wish to go see the gardens. So when you are done speaking with your friend, you'll know where to find me," and I turn and walk away before he can say anything else. She's probably just an old girlfriend anyways.
I walk to the magnificent garden at the center of the park. I haven't been here for a very long time. They've added a fish-pond. I walk over to it and look into the clear water. There are a few water plants in it, and some goldfish.
Someone is shouting behind me. I keep my back turned, ignoring them, until I hear running footsteps coming up. I start to turn around to see what's going on…
WHAM! Someone knocks into me and I can feel myself falling…
SPLASH! We tumble into the pond.
I come to the surface, spluttering, at the same time as the boy who knocked me in. I glare at him.
"Why would you do that!" I shriek at him. My gown is now ruined, and Papa will most definitely be angry.
"It's not like I did it on purpose!" He seems equally angry, but why I do not know. After all, it's his fault that he fell, not mine. He starts to flounder to the side. I start to open my mouth to yell at him again but…
"Nettie! What are you doing! Hey boy, what did you do to my sister!" Jean's back. He hauls the boy out of the water by his arm.
"Nothing! I didn't do anything!"
"But you are lying! He ran into me and we fell in." Jean is now attempting to help me out of the water, while trying to restrain the struggling boy.
"What's your name boy?"
"None of your—"
"You've ruined my sister's new gown, now what's your name!" Jean is starting to get angry now; I think it would be in this boy's best interest to give Jean his name.
He glowers at my brother. "It's Jon. Jonathan Reneax."
"Well then, we'll be in touch." He shoves the boy, Jon, away. "Let's go Nettie." I stand in awe, looking at the boy. Now that I see him truly, I see that does not look very French, and he's not really a boy. That meaning, he is undeniably grown up. He's just about as tall as Jean, with golden-blonde hair, greenish-blue eyes, just the right amount of muscles…
"NETTIE!" Jean's shout pulls me out of my day-dream. "It's time to go home now, you have to change." He puts his jacket over my slim shoulders, and we walk away.
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"I wonder who he was?" I ask myself as I pull off my dressing gown and step into the tub. He was quite handsome. What did he say his name was? Jon… umm… I have always struggled with names. I hold my breath and slip my head under the hot water. I love to take baths. The hot, steamy water always has a way of calming me down and clearing my head. I am in need of this; I've endured many a tongue lashing today. Madame was angry because I left my studies, and Papa was angry because I ruined my gown and wondered off alone.
I wonder if I'll ever see him again? Honestly! I have just had one of the most trying days of my life and all that I can think about is some boy I met at the park. Now I'm angry with myself, when I was a child and was told that Papa would be choosing me a husband, I swore to myself I would never fall in love.
I come up for air to hear a knock at the door.
"Mademoiselle Robichaud, there is a young man at the door to see you. He says he has something that belongs to you. Should I let him in?" It's the maid. My heart, unwillingly, skips a beat. Could it be him?
"What's his name?"
"He said it was Jean Reneax. Should I send him away?" It is him!
"No, let him in and tell him I will be with him momentarily."
"Yes Mademoiselle." I hear her receding footsteps. I finish my bath later I think as I pull myself out of the tub. I wonder what he could possibly have for me. After all, our meeting was brief and not at all pleasant. How does he even know who I am?
I dress, and redo my wet hair into a knot on the back of my head. I do hope I look presentable.
Jean and Papa are not home right now, and I don't know where Madame goes in the evening. I walk to the entrance hall, where I see Jon standing, looking at one of my father's sculptures.
"Welcome Monsignor Reneux, how may I help you?" All my years of taught grace are helping now. I just hope that I don't do something clumsy, like tripping over my long skirt.
"You don't have to call me that."
"But isn't that your name?"
"Yes, but I would prefer it if you called me Jon. But I don't believe I caught your name."
"Antoinette Robichaud."
"That's a mouthful." I stifle a laugh; he should hear my full name.
"Would you like to come in?"
"Thought I already was." He seems to be a difficult person to entertain. But, I have to be a lady.
"I mean come in and sit down."
"Well, if you're offering," and he follows me to the parlor.
"Take a seat please."
"But it's impolite to sit before a lady does, even I know that." I almost giggle again and sit; he follows suit and the maid, Maria, brings us tea.
"So what is it you do Mon—"
"Jon."
"Oh… alright, Jon."
"I'm a courier. For now anyways, until my father gets back on his feet. He's a tradesman, but he got hurt."
"How dreadful!" He bursts out laughing. "What's so funny, Jon?"
"You! You're such a lady!" he barely chokes out between fits of laughter. I glower at him, who gave him the right to judge?
"I fail to see how that's—"
"But that's not why I came," he interrupts. "I came to ask you how much that gown I wrecked cost, and to return this." He produces my parasol. I must have dropped it when we fell!
"Thank you, and you do not have to worry about the dress. I have many others, and that one was too tight anyways." That's a lie. That had been a new gown Papa gave me when he returned from Vienna a few weeks ago.
"No really, here." He gives me a handful of money. "I have to go now. Bye." He gets up and makes to leave.
"Wait!" I hear my own voice say it, though I don't know why.
"What?"
"Umm… nothing… goodbye Jon." He smiles and leaves. I wonder if I'll ever see him again?
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"Welcome mademoiselle. May I take your coat?
"Thank you," and I hand him my wrap. My, what a grand place I think as I look around the house.
I'm at the Chesnay's Ball in their grand manor on the outskirts of Paris. The ballroom has a high, carved ceiling with a beautiful chandelier hanging in the center, with paintings and works of art hanging on the walls. Since I have no intentions of dancing, I leave the ballroom to go and find a place to sit and watch the ball progress.
I just find a seat when a young man walks up to me.
"Excuse me, mademoiselle. May I have this dance?" I am shocked. No one has ever asked me to dance with them before.
"M… may I know your name first?"
"Henri, Henri Chesnay."
"Oh, it is a pleasure to meet you, Monsignor." He's a Chesnay! What is the son of one of the most prosperous families in Paris talking to me for?
"And who might you be?"
"Antoinette Robichaud."
"Oh, so your Jean's little sister. Louise told me all about you." So THAT'S who that Louise girl was. This must be her younger brother. "So will you dance with me?"
"Of course." I stand up and walk with him to the ballroom. I don't really enjoy dancing, but apparently I'm quite good at it. Not even Madame Bardeau could seem to find any criticisms when she was teaching me. Mama taught me first, though.
We are walking up to where Papa and Jean are standing. Papa looks at me with a strange expression. As Henri and I walk past, Papa whispers in my ear, "You look just like your Mama." I look at him, could it be? Is he really… proud of me?
A/N: Sooo… How was it? Better? Worse? Do you like Mia or Antoinette better? If you say neither… PREPARE YOURSELF FOR HATEMAIL! Just kiddin'! As I said before, they will tie into each other eventually, so give it time. Well… I can't think of anything else to say other then PUHLEESE R&R, and GO OILERS!
