A/N: I own absolutely nothing! I'm just borrowing the characters.

This is Prompt No. 41-France

"You're going to be late if you keep staring out the window like that."

Commander Shane Grey glanced up at his brother, Nate Grey and scowled. "I have absolutely no desire to go," he said huffily, returning to staring out the window of the bed and breakfast, his mood matching that of the weather. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, and Shane was beginning to get sick of the incessant pattering of the rain against to glass. The streets of France were wet and muddy, and Shane could not even see to the end of the street because of the drive of the rain. "Why were we sent here in the first place?"

Nate, standing by the fire with one arm draped lazily on the mantle regarded his brother with a slightly annoyed expression. "You know exactly why," he told him. "You're just trying to trap me in an explanation that will extend past the time we must leave."

Shane raised an eyebrow at his brother, amused that such a scholar as he had turned out to be so valuable to the cause. With a sigh, Shane gripped the arms of the chair and hauled himself to his feet. "I suppose we must go," he said, stating the inevitable. Nate nodded and gave a sigh of relief. Both brothers knew that Shane would be going no matter what, it was just a question of what mood he was going to take with him.

"Come on," Nate said. "I've set out your clothes." Shane followed him into the small bedroom and grimaced when he saw the costume laid out before him. "Wha-" he began, but Nate cut him off.

"I've told you a thousand times if I've told you once, Shane," he told his brother testily. "The point of a masquerade is to actually wear a costume."

Shane let his eyes rove over the costume, a harlequin costume, and muttered, "I hate the U.S." Nate shook his head. "No you don't," he said knowingly. "If you did, you wouldn't be anywhere near here." He handed the costume to his brother and then left, closing the door behind him to afford his brother some privacy.

Shane glared at the ruffled collar and muttered, "The things I do for my country."


"Michelle, do hurry up," Lady Tess coaxed. "We don't have all day. We have to be at the ball soon." A muffled reply was heard, and Tess rolled her eyes. "You're as thin as a rail. Don't tell me you can't get into that dress."

On the other side of the door, Mitchie huffed and gave another tug at her tight-fitting dress. "I can't get into the dress," she hissed, too low for her friend to hear. With one last, good tug, the dress slid into place, but not without the sound of some stitches ripping. Mitchie winced, embarrassed that a dress would be this difficult to fit into. She stepped out into the room, turning slightly so that Tess could see the whole effect of the dress.

"Well," Tess said, eyeing Mitchie up and down, "it's rather last season, but otherwise, it looks lovely on you."

Mitchie blushed, realizing that Tess didn't mean to sound demeaning, but was still embarrassed that this was the best she could make do with. "Thank you," she said softly, and her downcast eyes fully told Tess that she had spoken out of turn.

"Oh, Mitchie," she said, a slight note of tension in her voice. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. You look just fine, and I'm sure plenty of young men will want to dance with you." She knew that a statement like that would strike a nerve with Mitchie, so she said it playfully.

It had the desired effect, for Mitchie looked up, her eyes flashing with a bit of resistance, and said with a toss of her lush brown curls, "Well I don't want to dance with them." She smiled at Tess. "You know that I'm just here as your company. I wasn't even invited."

Tess smiled and grabbed her fan. "That's the spirit," she told her friend and gave her arm a tug, pulling her out the door and out to the waiting carriage. She moved so quickly that the rain barely touched her before she was safely inside. Mitchie, more hesitant to be out in the French society, was less fortunate. Her lack of eagerness hindered her steps, and she was rather wet when she climbed into the carriage.

Tess wisely made no comment, and the drive to the hall was quiet, except for the patter of the rain and the creak of the carriage wheels. Soon, though, they arrived at the hall, and the driver hopped down this time to open the door for them. Tess thanked him and paid him from her purse, which always hung inside her skirt, just next to her hip, and the two young women made their way inside. The hall was a mass of twisting and turning corridors, and Mitchie felt her eyes widen as she tried to take in all the grandeur.

"Not bad," Tess said with a sniff. Mitchie cast her friend a look of disbelief. She knew that Tess was a very wealthy girl of noble English descent, but even she must be, at the very least, a little impressed. Mitchie, the daughter of a prominent Virginian cotton grower, was quite impressed.

A footman took their cloaks, and Tess passed Mitchie the mask she was supposed to wear, slipping her own on with ease. After all, Tess had explained, masquerades were the French style. Mitchie slid the mask over her head, trying not to mess up the curls that Tess had painstakingly done for her, refusing to let their maid, Lola, attempt such a style. "Are you ready?" Tess asked, her feet already propelling her toward the staircase that would take them down to the ballroom, where sweet music was coming from.

"No," Mitchie whispered slightly, knowing that Tess would not be able to hear her. She dutifully followed after her friend, reminding herself that she was the one who had requested staying with Tess for a month. She was the one who had expressed a natural curiosity in the party in the first place, so it would be her that would be congenial and cordial throughout the night, if only not to embarrass Tess.

The staircase Mitchie found herself descending was completely for show. Its only purpose was to allow the newcomers to parade themselves before the onlookers below. As she took each step with graceful ease, Mitchie tried not to look out over the sea of people like Tess was doing. She was too embarrassed over her dress, which was not even a costume. It was made of a light blue silk, fashioned with white diamond patterns all over it and white ruffles around the scooped neckline and the three quarter sleeves. Yes, it was rather last season, as Tess had observed, but it had fit in to the itinerary for the night, or so Mitchie had thought before she saw all the other gowns.

The soft light played off of the floor, basking the dancers, their colorful outfits blending together, in a soft glow as the musicians played their haunting melody. Mitchie knew which song they were playing even though she could not speak French. It was a song of lovers separated from each other simply because of status, one of life's greatest injustices. In that brief moment, Mitchie forgot not to look down at the assembly, and her eyes caught those of another's.

He was dressed in a harlequin's costume, his black hair making the black mask he wore seem very dark against his smooth skin. His eyes were what captivated Mitchie the most, since they seemed to peer right into her heart. Her lips parted in surprise, but her quiet nature forced her to look away as she stepped onto the last step of the staircase where Tess was waiting for her.

"There are some seats over there," Tess said, oblivious to what had just happened. She nodded to the edge of the ballroom, and Mitchie just nodded by way of answered, too preoccupied to provide a decent answer.

The two young women walked over to the chairs and sat down to wait for partners. As one gallant young man snatched Tess away, Mitchie found herself looking for the harlequin. She scanned the room, her eyes lighting up when she found him seated in a corner all by himself. She blushed when she realized that he was watching her, and her hand moved up to fiddle nervously with her white mask. Throughout the dance, Mitchie kept sneaking glances his way, only to find him looking back at her each time. She smiled, and was still smiling when Tess came back to her seat, breathing hard from the exertion.

"You look happy," Tess commented as she eyed her friend.

"I am," Mitchie said with a smile. "And I'm not sure why." Why should this man, a man she knew nothing about, strike such happiness in her heart?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a tap on her shoulder.