The first time Marian had ever tasted wine (indeed, the first time she had ever tasted liquor of any kind) was during her stay in Paris. It was a beautiful evening near the end of May, and Harold had suggested taking a stroll. After wandering the streets along the banks of the Seine for a little while, they had ended up at a table for two in a cozy little café. While Marian indulged in a hot chocolate, Harold nonchalantly ordered a glass of Merlot.

At first, Marian pretended not to notice – they were in France, after all – but when he took a long draught of the wine and let out a contented sigh, she raised an eyebrow at him.

In return, Harold winked at her. "Would you like to try some, my dear? It's awfully good."

Knowing he expected her to decline, Marian promptly replied, "I'd love to try some!"

Harold was only startled for a moment. His eyes lighting up with delight, he handed her the glass.

Regretting her boldness, Marian paused and tentatively eyed the dark-red liquid. But when her husband's amused grin turned into a teasing smirk, she brought the glass to her lips and tilted her head back. Steeling her resolve, Marian parted her lips and let the wine enter her mouth – she would not let primness get the better of her. Not in Paris.

"How is it, darling?" Harold asked after she had set the glass down on the table.

Marian gave him a genuine smile. "That was good, actually," she confessed. "I thought it would taste terrible."

"Have another sip," he magnanimously offered.

So the librarian did. "Yes, that was very good," she said happily, reveling in the warm, tingling sensation that was currently spreading throughout her body. For the first time in her life, Marian understood alcohol's appeal. She would have taken a third sip, but she didn't want to drink all of her husband's wine. With a wistful sigh, she began to hand Harold's glass back to him.

He chuckled and motioned for her to keep it. "I'll order another one for myself," he assured her.

But Harold must have garbled his French again – instead of a single glass of wine, the waiter brought an entire bottle of Merlot to their table. Not that Marian minded this mistake; when Harold refilled her empty glass, she gladly raised it to her lips.

However, Marian drank her second glass a bit more slowly – it wouldn't do to get too carried away. The librarian sensed the wine had already affected her; all of a sudden, she felt lightheaded and was prone to giggling for no particular reason.

But it was a wonderful feeling. Harold seemed to be experiencing the same sense of giddy enjoyment; each time he refilled his glass, his eyes and smile grew a little brighter, and the blush in his cheeks deepened.

At first, Marian and Harold engaged in pleasant, languid conversation. But by the time the bottle of Merlot sat empty on the table, they had fallen silent and were simply gazing at each other with longing smiles. Harold looked so devilishly handsome and charming in his snap-brim fedora and double-breasted suit that Marian wasn't sure she could resist him for much longer. When he turned to the waiter and asked, in nearly perfect French, for their bill, she was too enchanted to contain her ardor.

"Darling," she said dreamily, leaning in and planting a gentle kiss on his lips. Marian started to move away, but Harold wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back to him. In her addled state, Marian didn't protest. They were in the dim corner of a Parisian café, and they were surrounded by other dreamy-eyed couples. Who would notice or care if she and her husband surreptitiously stole a few kisses?

But all too soon, Marian and Harold were interrupted by a polite, tentative ahem!

Breaking apart, they saw their waiter standing a few feet away from their table. With a small smirk on his face, the man presented them with their bill.

Harold sheepishly gestured to himself and his wife. "Nous sommes en voyage de noces," he explained in his halting French. Marian giggled – this wasn't the first time during their stay in Paris that Harold had used the "we're on our honeymoon" alibi to justify their behavior.

The waiter's smile broadened. "C'est également le Merlot – peut-être?" he suggested with a twinkle in his eye.

"Peut-être, Monsieur," Harold concurred with a grin.

As her husband took some francs out of his pocket in order to settle their bill, Marian pulled out her compact to assess her appearance. She couldn't help giggling yet again when she noted her rosy complexion and shining eyes – though she drank far less wine, she looked just as intoxicated as Harold!

When the librarian lowered her mirror, she saw her husband gazing fondly at her. "Shall we get going, my dear?"

Nodding, Marian allowed Harold to help her to her feet – she only wobbled slightly as she stood – and the two of them left the café. Marian thought he was going to bring her straight to their hotel, but they ended up on a bridge over the Seine.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, bewildered.

"There's nothing more romantic than standing with one's lover on a bridge over the Seine – or so I've heard," Harold replied with a grin as he took her in his arms.

Marian smiled as she settled into his embrace. "Well, it's not the footbridge, but I suppose it will do."

"Now, darling," Harold admonished, waggling a finger at her, "we're in France now. Therefore, you're only allowed to speak French during our clandestine rendezvous."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And what about you – mon chéri?"

He gave her a smoldering look. "If I could speak French as well as I can read it, ma chérie, I'd be whispering love poetry in your ear right now."

"You mean like this?" Leaning closer to her husband until her lips were brushing against his ear, Marian softly began to recite De Parny's Le Baiser:

Ah, Harold! what have you done?
All this ecstasy of bliss,
All this throbbing passion won
From one single kiss!
Lingering kisses never cloy
On the loving lips we press,
But, perhaps, the foretaste e'en of joy
Is love's greatest happiness;
And e'en the remembrance, Sweet,
Of this first kiss, always will
Make my bosom flush and beat,
Till my heart be cold and still.
Now your lover scarce believes
That 'tis her love inspires you:
Better to give than to receive,
So she joys in the love that fires you.

As soon as she had finished, Harold pulled away a little and sought her eyes with his. "Wasn't that the first poem you ever sent me?" he asked, awed.

Marian gasped. "I can't believe you remembered!"

He grinned. "How could I forget such a lovely confession? I always knew you were a passionate woman, but that was the first time during our courtship you allowed me an unfettered glimpse into the true depths of your ardor."

Normally, his words would have caused Marian's cheeks to crimson. But instead, she gave her husband a playful smile and tightened her arms around him. "I was rather forward, wasn't I?"

Harold looked at her with that delicious expression of dazed amazement. "Terribly brazen," he agreed, and met her mouth with his.

When a trio of giggling young women on an evening stroll interrupted their embrace, Marian still didn't blush. Instead, she simply smiled as her husband turned to the ladies and explained, this time with a touch of pride, "Nous sommes en voyage de noces."

The women's giggles increased in intensity. "Félicitations pour votre mariage, Monsieur-Dame!" one of the young ladies said kindly.

"Merci, Mademoiselle," Harold replied, beaming at her. Taking Marian by the hand, he motioned for her to exit the bridge with him and pulled her quickly through the streets. She laughed breathlessly as she teetered along behind him in her higher-than-usual heels, praying she wouldn't twist an ankle during their mad dash.

Fortunately, they reached the rue des Beaux-Arts without incident. As they approached the entrance to L'Hotel, Harold slowed to a more appropriate pace, and they went through the doors and ascended the spiral staircase in a stately, dignified manner. It wasn't until Marian was standing outside the door to their room, rooting around in her purse for their key, when Harold dropped all pretense of formality and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Caught by surprise, Marian laughed and clutched her purse before it slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor. "Harold – we'll never get into our room, at this rate!"

But Harold didn't seem to care. "Oh, Madam Librarian," he sighed, nestling closer to her and nibbling at her neck, "I'm going to make such love to you… "

Trying as best she could to concentrate on the task at hand while Harold insistently ran his hands over her curves, Marian finally managed to locate their key. Once they had staggered into the room and shut the door behind them, she grabbed him by the lapels of his suit-coat and pulled him to her for a searing kiss. Though Harold had taken the lead outside in the hall, it was now Marian who set the pace – before he could so much as slide one of the straps of her evening gown down her shoulder, she had removed his suit-coat, tie and dress shirt.

Marian thought that after fifteen days in Paris, Harold would be used to her boldness. But as she began to undo his belt buckle, he gazed at her with the same sense of wonder and awe as he had when they were on the train to New York City. As Marian unabashedly continued to remove the rest of his clothing, he recovered his presence of mind and commenced undressing her just as hastily. Sighing, she let her arms fall to her sides and simply enjoyed her husband's heated caresses, reveling in the warmth of his hands and mouth against her bare flesh.

But Marian didn't remain idle for long. Pulling Harold into her arms, she looked him in the eyes and said in a low voice, "Make love to me."

At that, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to their bed. But as Harold lay Marian on top of the covers, her stomach began to churn unpleasantly. At first, she tried to ignore it, but when pain entered her gasps, Harold immediately ended their embrace. "Darling, what's the matter?"

"I feel queasy," she said wonderingly.

He regarded her with concerned eyes. "Is it the wine?"

"I don't think so," she replied. "It feels more like… " Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth.

Harold immediately pulled Marian to her feet and started ushering her to the washroom, but she tugged at him until he halted.

"Wait – things didn't happen this way," Marian said, anxiously trying to quell her rising nausea.

"What do you mean?" Harold asked, perplexed.

"I never felt queasy," she replied with absolute certainty. "We spent this entire night making love!"

He gave her a rueful smile. "That would have been nice, but I don't think it's the wisest of ideas. Not if you aren't feeling well."

"This isn't the way things are supposed to be!" Marian insisted, close to tears now.

"Oh, darling," Harold said sympathetically. Retrieving her robe from a nearby chair, he draped it over her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. "There's always tomorrow… "

"But I'm not sick," she whispered. As if to purposely contradict her, her stomach gave another disquieting lurch, and Marian knew she was about to lose the battle she'd been fighting with her body. Abruptly, she pulled away from Harold and fled to the washroom before it was too late –

XXX

Marian's eyes flew open and she sat up in bed. The dream had ended, but the nausea remained; she clutched her churning stomach and commanded it to settle. Through sheer force of will, Marian managed to stifle her queasiness.

But she couldn't enjoy her triumph for long; as Marian recalled her behavior in Paris, her cheeks crimsoned. It was appalling, the way she and Harold had carried on in public! How could she have found such conduct amusing? She should never have tried the Merlot; that much was certain. And if she had fully considered the consequences of her brazen actions in the train compartment –

You still would have gone ahead and done it, anyway, a voice said shrewdly. It was wonderful to stop being the dull and dutiful wife and mother and simply enjoy life for once, wasn't it?

Marian immediately pushed such thoughts from her mind. It was time for her to get up; there were chores to do, breakfast to cook, two girls to get ready for school, and then she had a full day at the library. Marian would have loved to stay home – she had been feeling awfully tired lately, and could have used the extra rest – but her assistant, Miss Peabody, had gone to Marshalltown to care for her sick aunt, and she wouldn't be back for at least another week.

As Marian industriously made the bed – ruefully noting from the smoothness of the covers on Harold's side that he hadn't returned home last night – her gaze fell upon the clock on her end table. Inexplicably, the hour and minute hand indicated it was almost ten thirty. Looking at the clock on the wall, Marian was startled to see that the time on her alarm was indeed correct.

Her eyes widening, Marian frantically dashed to Penny and Elly's bedroom to wake them up – due to her indolence, the girls had missed practically a whole morning of school! But when she opened their door, she saw neatly made beds and felt the stillness of the normally buzzing atmosphere; the girls had gotten up long ago. Bemused, Marian returned to her room. Why hadn't she awakened at her usual time? More importantly, why hadn't her alarm – which she used as a precautionary measure to prevent such lapses – alerted her that she had overslept?

A quick examination of the clock on her bedside table revealed that someone had switched the alarm off. Marian scowled; how dare Harold interfere with her morning routine like that! Fuming, she dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen to make herself breakfast. If she hurried, she might be able to complete at least some of her chores before she had to open the library at eleven –

Marian's thoughts scattered when she saw the note on the counter:

Marian –

I've taken the liberty of getting Penny and Elly ready for school. They'll be eating lunch at the emporium with me, and then returning there after school, since you'll be at the library this afternoon. I'll send the girls home this evening for dinner.

H.

Marian trembled as she reread the note; clearly, she had underestimated the depths of her husband's anger. It was bad enough he wasn't coming home for lunch, and now he was planning to miss dinner as well? Not for the first time since Harold had stormed out of the house, Marian felt the overwhelming urge to weep. Suppressing her tears, she crumpled the note and tossed it in the nearby wastebasket. She didn't have time for this foolishness –

You never have time, said that irritating voice. Wasn't that Harold's point?

Marian had to concede the truth of this, but she wasn't about to pamper her husband's ego by running to the emporium and pleading for him to come home. Especially as he was the one who had stormed out in the first place!

But what are you going to tell the girls?

"Mind your own business," Marian said firmly, and turned her attention to her usual morning routine.