Author's Note: A one-shot taking place after Sir Percy Hits Back. Percy x Marguerite, with some minor bedroom fluff. Originally, I had planned to write this as a smutty piece, but Percy wouldn't shut his mouth long enough for me to do so.

~BD

A Gordian Knot

Amidst the silvery patches of moonlight, Marguerite Blakeney paced (for strolling was far too tame a word), back and forth between the huge stone urn overflowing with early summer flowers and the tall chestnut trees that towered on this side of Richmond's sweeping lawns to form the avenue.

The hour was late, nearly midnight. Yet she knew without doubt that her husband would arrive before dawn, and she would not miss him, even if she had to walk ceaselessly to keep herself awake during the chilly, dark hours of early morn to do so.

She had dismissed most of her servants nearly two hours prior, excepting a few stable boys who would be needed when Percy arrived to take Sultan to his stall, and Frank, who was always ready to serve his master. As for seeing to her husband's comforts, Marguerite was more than up to the task, and tonight she had many burning questions that could not be answered if servants were bustling about to help.

Precisely a week prior, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord St. Denys had arrived at Richmond via coach, much to Marguerite's surprise. She knew both to be in France along with several other members of the League, and she had most certainly not been expecting either. But still, she had hurried down the terraced steps the moment she was alerted of an approaching coach, and suffice to say she hoped – oh, how she had hoped! – that the coach bore her husband to her.

She had quickly managed to rearrange her disappointed expression to one of cheerful welcome when it was Sir Andrew instead of Sir Percy who opened the coach door and alighted, though she instantly wondered why on earth he was at Richmond and not in Orange, which was where she was told the League would be operating for a month or so before a short repose. The only explanation the cleverest woman in Europe could formulate was that Percy had sent his right-hand man home early, though Marguerite could scarce imagine why. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes was Percy's most trusted confidant, and her husband disliked undertaking an adventure without the young man.

Sir Andrew seemed to notice her quick suspicion of his arrival, because he returned her smile wanly and nervously. And then St. Denys had jumped out of the coach and stepped directly to milady, giving Sir Andrew the opportunity to turn and assist someone else within the coach.

Marguerite, determined that she should drag the story from Andrew soon enough (whether he desired it or not), turned her pretty smile to Denys and extended her fingers.

"Lud, but I must say this is a pleasant surprise! I trust one or both of you will explain in due course, dearest Denys."

"It had best be Ffoulkes," he replied, as merry twinkle sparkled in his warm brown eyes and his lips brushed her fingertips politely. "He ranks higher than I, and we are under the strictest orders, Lady Blakeney."

"I daresay," she answered, a trifle dryly. "As always, eh?"

Sir Andrew quickly traded places with Denys to kiss her fingers as well, and he discreetly slipped a folded paper into her hand as he did so. Yet Marguerite did not have time to read it, as the next moment she was formally introduced to two young people who had accompanied the two members of the League to Richmond, and whom Andrew had just helped down from the coach.

They could hardly be called children, but she would have paused before calling them adults. The first was a girl, with beautiful golden hair and large blue eyes, who went by the name of Fleurette. She was a pretty country lass, with something of nobility lurking in her bearing, and she hailed from the south of France. The young man was one Amédé Columbe, who was from the same village as Fleurette, though Marguerite rather thought he did not possess the same aristocratic mannerisms that the girl so subtly displayed.

Both curtsied and bowed, though a little nervously. They seemed quite shy at meeting her ladyship, especially when Sir Andrew robustly introduced Marguerite as "the bravest member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel".

Marguerite had laughed lightly and commented that if Sir Andrew kept saying such things, she would surely blush. But despite her quick sally, she was surprised at the profound effect his remark had on the two French children, whose faces lit with amazement that a woman was a member of this important and perfectly enchanting league of heroes.

Denys then explained that Fleurette and Amédé had been brought to Marguerite because neither of the children knew much English and, as their great leader claimed, no member of the League knew French better than Marguerite – except perhaps the very man himself.

By this point in the conversation, they were waxing far too close to Percy's dual identity for her liking, so she had quickly put an end to the introductions by insisting that Fleurette and Amédé come inside and freshen up for an early dinner. Within moments, she had sent servants running: to draw a bath for each of her new guests, to prepare fresh clothing, and for the best brandy to be served in Sir Percy's parlor for Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and my Lord St. Denys.

And as soon as the two young peasants had been swept up the wide stairs with a couple of maids and menservants to assist them, Marguerite retired to the parlor as well, to speak with her fellow League members about this new development.

However, the moment the doors had been shut tight behind her, Sir Andrew had quickly requested that she read the missive which Percy had contrived to write in the distorted hand of the Pimpernel, specifically for her.

She humored Andrew, simply because it would likely make things easier. He would not answer her questions until she read her husband's orders. But the scrap of dirty parchment only revealed that Percy desired her to bestow every measure of kindness and attention to the girl Fleurette, who was a sweet child that would have need to forget the previous three weeks at any cost. Fleurette would especially require Lady Blakeney's generous, loving nature to heal her wounds, according to Percy's instructions.

And, curiously, he had left Amédé out of the note entirely.

When Marguerite looked up expectantly for more information, Sir Andrew smothered a wince at her expression and, flushing, repeated that he could offer nothing additional, except that Percy would be home within exactly one week from the day, and that she might consider requesting her brother's presence at Richmond until that time, as poor Amédé would likely feel quite out of place amongst two ladies.

And before she could change tactics and demand answers, both Andrew and Denys had sensed her change in mood and risen with remarkable speed; they bowed and exited, claiming they were required to be in Calais by the next morning, per orders.

It was rather astonishing how hastily the members of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel could move when confronted with their leader's darling wife, she thought irritably. These men danced with her at the balls and laughed with her over dinner, they attended her soirees and parties. Yet when she demanded answers regarding their life saving, daring, and dangerous missions, they scuttled behind Percy's towering form for protection.

There was nothing else to be done, for by the time she had reached the entry, both young men were gone. She had sighed with exasperation; it was Percy's fault they were so devoted, and she couldn't blame them for following orders. But it did make her life more difficult at times. And for the entire week to follow, she had been more than a little frustrated. No doubt her husband would explain the situation fully upon his return, but in the meantime, she could make neither heads nor tails of why he had sent two young adults that he had rescued to their home, and why he had not even bothered to mention Amédé in his note when he had been so expressive of Fleurette. He rarely sent refugees to Richmond; the primary exception had been Juliette and Paul. But on the whole, there was too much risk of the French aristocrats guessing the truth behind the Scarlet Pimpernel's daring mask, and therefore, hundreds knew nothing of their bold rescuer's identity.

But to Marguerite's further surprise, that very evening at dinner she learned Amédé did, in fact, know of her husband's double life – Percy had actually requested of him the same obedience he received from the members of his League, and Amédé had given it willingly. He would not, he swore to Marguerite, reveal Sir Percy Blakeney's secret to anyone, under any circumstance.

Fleurette, too, admitted in her sweet, lovely way she would never betray the daring Scarlet Pimpernel, for he was wonderfully kind and good, and she adored him.

This partially explained why Percy had sent them to Richmond, as they already knew the truth, but Marguerite wondered why he had requested that she show Fleurette, in particular, every kindness imaginable. The girl was barely eighteen, clearly in love with Amédé, and had a look of fear that dwelt in her clear blue eyes when she believed Marguerite was not paying attention. But most who came from France had fear in their eyes – that was nothing new. What, then, was the key to this puzzle? Why did Percy want Fleurette treated so kindly, when many others had suffered the same atrocities that she had?

Determine to reach the bottom of the mystery before Sir Percy returned, Marguerite had done as Sir Andrew suggested and sent for Armand. Her brother was a member of the League as well, and perhaps had heard from some of the other members. Armand agreed to stay until the day before Percy was due home, as he had several business transactions which were to take place the following week in London that could not be postponed, but confessed that he had not spoken to anyone recently. Marguerite settled for what she could get and welcomed him happily when he arrived, briefed him on the situation, and while Armand spent time with young Amédé, she had wandered the grounds and gardens with beautiful, young Fleurette.

But to her further frustration, even the girl herself was unable to help solve the confusion of Percy's odd epistle. All she gleaned from Fleurette was that the child had been born and bred in the south of France, in the Dauphiné region near the village of Laragne, where Amédé had also lived his life 'til now. Her father had been a powerful man within the government, but Marguerite could not even learn his name from the child – Fleurette only called him "Bibi", often preceded by the endearment "chéri", and the only other thing the girl knew was that, amongst the government, her father was simply known as "Citizen Armand" and commanded the utmost respect. Fleurette confessed that she had been denounced before the Tribunal by a servant girl of her house, whom she had always treated as her sister; and a soldier who, for some reason, detested her dear father.

Armand, unfortunately, was too common a name to guess anything additional. Even Marguerite's own brother was named "Armand", and he too was unable to obtain anything further out of Amédé. When the siblings compared notes at the end of the week before he returned to London, Marguerite's interest and frustration had grown even more. Amédé only knew that Fleurette's father went by the name Citizen Armand as well, and that he was a powerful government official, but nothing else.

Thus, Armand St. Just had left the day before, and now Marguerite paced the moonlit garden, waiting for her husband's return so she could pepper him with questions and demand answers regarding the mysterious circumstances of Fleurette and Amédé.

She had reached the towering chestnuts that lined the famed avenue for the ninth time when she finally heard the clatter of hooves against the gravel. She paused beneath the canopy of dark branches, quite hidden from the moon's silvery blanket, and turned towards the sound.

Percy was riding as reckless but as skillful as always, full tilt through the gates and up the long drive, before skidding to a stop in front of the terrace steps. He did like to make an entrance at times, and it was breathtaking to watch him when he did. Stable boys and menservants were already appearing, as though they had materialized from nowhere, and within moments they had taken Sultan around the side of the house, while Percy disappeared inside with Frank.

Marguerite suddenly remembered to breathe. She always seemed to lose this ability whenever she saw her husband after a long period of separation, especially if he were exhibiting his extraordinary abilities. Realizing he had gone into the house, she started and quickly hurried across the lawn as fast as her silken gown would allow, out of the shadows of the chestnuts' limbs and into the pale light.

She was exceedingly lucky – Frank had not locked the front doors because he was well aware that his mistress was not asleep. She slipped inside quickly. The entrance hall was quite deserted, and she slowly began to climb the staircase, wondering if Percy had gone to his private study or their chambers first.

Halfway up the stairs, Frank reappeared, stoic and monotonous as always. He bowed politely to Marguerite and said, "His lordship elected to complete his toilet first, milady. I believe he will join you in your chambers shortly."

She nodded, keeping her voice calm, despite the implication (no matter how light and drab Frank kept his tone) that she should proceed to the bedroom.

"Thank you, Benyon."

He stepped aside to allow her to pass, and as she hurried down the corridor, she vaguely heard the heavy locks on the front door sliding shut. But her mind was far elsewhere: the idea of Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart. partaking of his bath was more than enough to make Marguerite's blood heat. Fortunately, she met no one else and she retreated to the safe haven of their bedroom, only to find it empty.

She had long since sent Louise and Lucie to bed, but she had also grown accustomed to removing her gowns and stays and petticoats alone – there were times when it was necessary, especially if she accompanied her husband on one of his schemes to France, where she would be wholly without assistance at such tasks.

She was just in time, too. As she slipped out of her restricting stays and her long, soft shift fluttered freely against her body, her husband entered from the side chamber, tying the sash of his velvet dressing gown. For a moment, Marguerite simply stared at the slit of damp skin from his waist to neck, and then when she realized he was staring at her in the same way, she sighed softly and hurried to throw her arms about him.

His hands were hungry; she could feel them roaming with hurried strokes up her back and over her hips. His mouth was just as greedy as it claimed hers deeply and then moved to her throat with a desperateness that she cherished. He was always like this when he returned home – so passionate that he tossed his control to the wind and simply took her as his, and she loved him for it.

His mouth skimmed her ear as he left her throat. "Mon petite amé," he chided huskily, "where have you been at such a late hour?"

Marguerite, busy tugging the sash of the robe open, wondered why he had bothered to tie it at all. "I was waiting for you to come home, and I simply couldn'tsleep, Percy. So I went for a walk in the garden. I had just reached the chestnuts when you arrived."

"Ah, I suppose that is my fault for not being more observant, isn't it? I should have looked about." He chuckled the quaint, inane laugh she now loved so much, low in his throat and soft in her ear, and Marguerite groaned as she sank against him, reveling in how strong his body was, and how his muscles quivered beneath her in anticipation.

"Perhaps I should have called to you, but I was too far away for such a thing to be ladylike," she protested, sliding her hands through the thin line of golden hair that ran from low on his waist up the length of his chest.

Percy shuddered beneath her touch and suddenly caught her hands, only to kiss them and turn his gaze to hers with a shocking intensity of fervor. "My dear, you never cease to take my breath away," he muttered against her palm. "But I do beg you to be careful with my right shoulder this evening – it is a bit stiff." He smiled sheepishly at her, probably hoping she would not question further.

But Marguerite had instantly tensed and narrowed her eyes at him at this remark, and she would not be so easily pacified, as he well knew. She stepped back far enough to gently tug the dressing gown from his strong, sculpted body; when she did, she discovered a badly bruised shoulder, in distorted shades of purple and yellow.

At least it was healing, if nothing else. She barely managed to suppress a gasp, and sighed instead. There were times when he came home with injuries far worse then bruises, after all. There was nothing to be done except tend to it later, so she merely stated, "You consider them trophies, but I do not," even though it wouldn't change anything.

"La, my dear, but it is a trophy, you know. I'll be demmed if Tony didn't rant for all of Orange to hear when he saw it; claimed he wanted one like it and that it was most unfair he couldn't have been in the action. I thought we should be discovered if he didn't shut up. Stowmarries had a time quieting him down, I can tell you! Rescuing the Comtesse de Desmarias and her daughter was quite a more difficult task than the previous ones as they were rather heavily guarded, and I'm afraid that when I distracted the guards to a game of…"

"Never mind how you obtained it," she said dryly, cutting him off. "The fact is, you did." If she heard the particulars, she would only be more frightened of his next adventure, and she already had such difficulties in dealing with his dangerous absences as it was.

"Yes, well. As I said, Tony was immensely disappointed he didn't get as good. That quite makes up for it."

He smiled as though this settled the matter; in Marguerite's opinion, it didn't remotely come close. There were some things that were almost beyond her comprehension.

"And on top of this awful bruise," she pouted cutely and leaned forward to place a light kiss upon his arm just below the nasty coloring, "you sent me a Gordian Knot as a gift, and I've not been able to solve it yet. That is also most unfair."

Percy's entire countenance changed; his eyes took on the light of adventure he wore whenever he ventured to France to save lives. "Ah! Yes, I confess I did, didn't I? I am sorry to hear you've not been able to discover the answer to the puzzle yet, m'dear. 'Tis priceless, I assure you! Will you tell me what you have discerned thus far?"

Marguerite pursed her lips and surveyed him. He continued to smirk at her, and she decided they should at least be comfortable if they were going to settle down to this conversation. She tugged him towards their bed and he did not protest; only once they were both beneath the sheets and she had pressed her slender body against his strength and warmth and assured herself mentally that he was safe beside her, did she confide what she and her brother had been able to extract from Amédé and Fleurette.

All the while, Percy merely listened, though Marguerite noticed his eyes twinkled merrily and he could barely suppress a smile as she went through the details. At the end of her explanations, she frowned at him in annoyance. He was teasing her by remaining so quiet, and he knew it.

"Percy, you are not telling me something! Will you not help me solve this puzzle you yourself sent me, or do you insist on being silent?"

The mask broke; he laughed cheerfully at her fire. "Odd's life, my dear! 'Tis simple enough, as I said – though you will find it astounding. But first, pray tell how you have bestowed your kindness on that young girl. That, I'm afraid, is the most important thing."

Marguerite sighed with exasperation. "I've done all I can to make her happy, Percy. Surely you must know that! When the Scarlet Pimpernel gives me an order, I do not disobey. Do not forget, I am a member of the League, also," she added, both proudly and sharply.

"In truth, my dear, I highly doubt I shall ever forget you are a member of my League. But I would hear particulars in this case."

The light still sparkled in his lazy blue eyes; he would not give his knowledge up so easily, and perforce, Marguerite gave him more detail.

"I've spent hours with the girl, Percy. She is charming; so sweet and gentle and naive, that I cannot imagine anyone desiring to hurt her." A small line suddenly appeared on her brow. "But sometimes, despite my efforts, her eyes become dull and distant, as though she were remembering horrible things. It is discouraging, I daresay. But, I have promised to take her to London next week, and Amédé too, to have them fitted for an entirely new wardrobe. Heaven knows they need decent clothes. And we have spent many long hours together in the gardens, talking. I have told her all about England and what life is like here, and she and Amédé have also spent hours alone. A fine pair of young lovers they are, and between us, I believe it is Amédé who is making her forget the horrors of France, and not myself. Perhaps I have failed you, Percy." She dropped her gaze at this thought.

Percy's smile had become quite gentle, but now a look of sadness flickered in his eyes and began to replace his humor. "My Margot. Darling, you have not failed. In fact, I knew you would not fail me, which is precisely why I sent those two children to you." He brought up his hand and cupped her cheek, and she placed hers over it affectionately. "Now, will you promise, despite what I must tell you, to continue to love the girl and shower her with affection?" he asked softly.

Marguerite arched one of her delicate eyebrows in question.

"Your answer must be honest, my dear," he murmured, watching her carefully. "What I ask of you is far beyond what the Scarlet Pimpernel can demand. It requires all the forbearance of your generous and loving heart. The girl has done nothing to earn censure or hatred, particularly from you. You must remember that. She has a tendency to grow attached to those she loves, and I have a hunch that she loves you already."

"Yes, I have noticed that, myself. And I do adore Fleurette, Percy. Just as I adore Juliette, though I confess I have had longer to become acquainted with her. But I will treat Fleurette as if she were my very sister, as I have thus far, and as more time passes, she and I shall become the best of friends. Now, will youplease give me the sword which cuts this Knot?"

He sighed heavily, and the light died completely from his eyes, to be replaced completely by the sadness that she had seen moments before. It was several seconds before he began heavily, "Fleurette's father is indeed a very powerful man within the Republican Government, Marguerite. In fact, he helped set some of those odious laws which have sent so many innocent victims to the guillotine and thence, their maker. And it was his own laws and his own callous, unfeeling nature which entrapped pretty Fleurette – much to his horror, of course. When he realized what had happened, he exercised all of his power to save her. It would seem Fleurette is the only being in the world that such an unfeeling man could hold love for. But he does love her. He, too, is human." Percy gazed sadly at her.

A sudden, icy chill crept through Marguerite's heart, and she tightened her hold on his hand, which still rested on her cheek. "Who is her father, Percy?" she asked, feeling as though a black shadow were hovering around them, ready to suffocate her.

Quietly, he murmured, "I think, my dear, that you can guess. See? 'Tis not such a difficult puzzle, after all."

"No. No, Percy, the girl is too kind, to gentle. She could not possibly…!"

"I confess, I was rather surprised, myself."

"No! Percy, it can't be true!"

"It is, and so you must say it, my dear."

She closed her eyes tightly, summoning her courage. But it was still some few seconds before she managed to whisper, "Chauvelin?"

Her voice sounded strained, as though she could not bear to speak the awful name, the name of the man – no, a devil! – who had caused her so much anguish and pain in the past, who constantly threatened her husband's precious life. It was too horrible, too terrible to think that Chauvelin was pretty, sweet, innocent Fleurette's father.

Percy sat up silently as he felt the sudden dampness touch his fingers, which still held her cheek. He gathered his trembling wife to him, pulling her into his lap to hold her close, and he said quietly, "I beg you, dearest Margot. You must always be kind and loving to Fleurette. Because, my love, this is how we will both take our revenge: by treating her as if she were a sister, just as you have said."

Pressing against him, her voice muffled against his strong chest, she choked out, "Oh! So many times he came to my salon in Paris, years ago it seems now, but never did he mention a daughter! Never did he mention that he was even married! I never suspected, I never thought…! And Fleurette! I never dreamt –!"

Stroking his slender fingers through the luscious, golden-red curls, he explained, "His wife died years ago, from what I have been able to discover through local records, shortly after Fleurette was born. According to the government, the girl's real name is Fleur Chauvelin, though the village of Laragne only knew her as Fleurette Armand. Our charming enemy himself kept her very existence a secret, because she was his only weakness, and he could not afford to have anyweaknesses, else he be destroyed. Oh, mon ami, how he has suffered these past three weeks. Odd's life, but I do feel for him!"

Percy rested his head on top of hers before continuing, "To have his only child locked in prison, Marguerite, through the hateful actions of a servant girl who had worked in his house. Adèle denounced Fleurette to punish her, for she hated everything about Fleurette, everything Fleurette represented. Chauvelin's nerves were strained with effort to save his child, to the point that he even secretly begged for my help in his own, secretive way. He now knows how I have felt, when he captured you, though he will never confess to it. It was Tony he approached, under cover of darkness, desiring a way to pass Fleurette a note, undetected, whilst she was in prison. Of course, he believed me to be a mere worker at the prison, and he believed Tony to be a filthy mudlark. So after I delivered the note and received Fleurette's response, I went to visit the mysterious Armand myself. And I decided I would go as Percy Blakeney, and not some filthy ruffian in rags. I wanted Armand's help, if he were willing; I thought I could use the help of a desperate man who possessed such power within the Republic. Would be easier than saving the girl it alone. But I confess, Margot, that when I went through that door and discovered my dear friend Monsieur Chauvelin behind the desk, when I was expecting to see a man named Armand whom I had never seen before in my life…"

He trailed off and sighed deeply. "If I ever needed you by my side, it would have been then, my dearest Marguerite. As it was, it took much effort to remain calm and proceed with the conversation in a civilized manner."

"Good God in heaven, Percy." More tears fell from her eyes, wetting his chest, and she tightened her hold on him.

He chuckled softly. "Oh, my love. Never before have I seen a man so broken. Even when you were held prisoner, I do not believe that I was as broken as Armand Chauvelin was the night I discovered his secret weakness – and I confess, I was quite desperate whilst he held you captive! Do you know? The brute fully expected me to feed him and his daughter to those dogs of the Revolution as my revenge upon him, as though I were as inhuman as he has been. I'm sure you can guess the difficulties I had when thus I was forced to explain to those with me whom our next rescue would be."

She gasped and looked up at him in shock. "They daren't disobey your orders?" she cried. Surely the members of the League had not argued with their great leader! They, who had sworn to follow and obey implicitly!

But Sir Percy laughed outright. "Zooks, my dear! Only Ffoulkes managed to remain remotely calm when I told them who our mysterious Armand was! It was quite comical, I assure you! But for the gravity of the situation, I would have been more amused. Tony nearly put his fist through the wall of the derelict attic we were holed in, and I thought Stowmarries would burst the rag of a tunic he wore! Denys, Hastings, and Philip were shouting for a full minute before poor Andrew managed to quiet them again! But no," and his tone changed to one of utmost satisfaction, "Otherwise, they did not dare refuse my orders that they be ready to assist me however I required in our following endeavors."

Then, seeing her stony expression, he quite cheerfully added, "And in the end, they really had far more than their fair share of fun – most of us were in the courtroom to witness the trial, and for several moments I did think our dear friend Chauvelin would manage to save his precious Fleurette after all. But bloodthirsty villains are fickle creatures, as you well know, and just when I thought all was saved, it went the other way entirely and the crowd decided they wanted her head and his after all! I had to create a new plan on the spot, and thank heaven Tony, Ffoulkes, and Hastings followed without the slightest confusion. Dressed as a coal heaver and covered in a nasty coating of filth and grim," still quite gaily, "I took Fleurette, while they," he laughed, "threw a sack over Chauvelin's head and trussed him like a Christmas goose! I do believe they had too much fun, but we couldn't have him knowing what was going on, when pretty Fleurette was in such danger."

Marguerite scowled. "You laugh, Sir Percy, but I do not find it humorous! What on earth did you do with the man?" she demanded. Then a wretched thought occurred to her and she suddenly gasped. "You did not bring him to England, surely!"

"Lud love you, m'dear, of course not! What put such a pretty notion into your charming head? No, I drove a coach breakneck from Orange to the other side of Nîmes the moment I had secured their rescue, and the villainous crowd never suspected what had really happened for a second, from what Sir Richard told me later. You see; I had left him, along with Galveston and Fanshawe, in Orange, to monitor the situation. The crowd had rushed out to the guillotine at the conclusion of the trial, expecting me to bring the unfortunate father and daughter, whilst I secretly went through the building to a back alley and escaped with both! As for Chauvelin, the man was in such shock that he could barely string two words together; he was quite inarticulate. I sent him back to Nîmes with my most cordial farewell, and I told Fleurette that her dear papa, whom she affectionately refers to as Bibi, was quite safe but, alas, unfortunately unable to accompany her to England due to his position in the government. She accepted this answer, so long as she and her Amédé were able to travel together. I assured her I would do nothing to separate them, and that they would be sent to you, where they would live prior to their wedding, and I fully intend to supply them with a comfortable home upon completion of the ceremony." He rubbed her back soothingly. "Amédé is not quite gentry – a kind boy, but very quaint, ain't he? Fleurette, on the other hand, will grow accustomed to society easily. Chauvelin, contrary to all he preaches, brought her up as a noble, whether he would admit it or not."

"But why?" Marguerite asked wonderingly, too stunned to comprehend.

"Demmed if I know. It doesn't exactly make much sense, but I can only assume that, for all his desires for a new order, Chauvelin himself was brought up in the old regime's ways. I don't believe he truly wanted his precious child to see the horrors of the revolution, so he kept her innocent and hidden, raising her just as he would have done had the royal monarchy been in charge. He wanted her to be unspoiled, and so she was – until she was denounced and thrown into prison. I did inform him that you would take responsibility for Fleurette, to exact your revenge on him, however. I don't believe he quite understood. As I said, he fully expected me to allow the Republic to murder both of them." He paused, and then slowly said, "I believe it is beyond his comprehension that I could not allow such a thing. Chauvelin does not quite grasp true human nature, I'm afraid. He should, seeing as he loves Fleurette so dearly. But I simply couldn't allow…"

He trailed off for the second time in the conversation, and Marguerite wrapped her arms about him more tightly. "No," she whispered. "No, of course not, my love."

"Are you angry, dearest?"

"Shocked, but not angry. Nor will I attempt to put my fist through the wall," she added, with a hint of sarcasm.

"I would not have you harm your beautiful hands." He kissed both, and then added, "Tony's are not nearly as dainty. Thankfully, he did not put his fist through the wall, or I would have had a terrible time explaining such an injury to darling little Yvonne! I could not bear to see her expression if Tony had come home in bandages."

She almost giggled, but sobered quickly, her thoughts flying ahead to important matters. "Shall I plan a wedding, Percy? Fleurette and her young lover wish to marry as soon as possible, but I'm afraid she will be disappointed when her poor Bibi does not attend."

A mischievous glint sparkled in her husband's lazy blue eyes. "Zounds, my dear, but I hope you plan a magnificent affair – one that people will be talking of for months! – so that I may have the desirous pleasure of returning to France on the sole purpose of seeking out my dear friend Monsieur Chambertin in order to inform him that his beautiful daughter had the wedding of the season and is wife of her childhood sweetheart! I'll be demmed if he won't lose his temper with me!" He laughed loudly, not the inane laugh society was so accustomed to, but a real laugh that only a few select people had heard.

Marguerite tensed at his suggestion and tried to hush him. "Percy! You should not press your luck so! You know he wants nothing more than your death! And I would wish, just once, that you would think of me before running headlong into the noose!"

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time he'd have tried to kill me, now would it?" He chuckled and pulled her towards him once more. "I daresay, now that the whole caper is finished, I find it all quite devilish! His Royal Highness will be most diverted when I relay the story to him, I fear."

And even Marguerite could not help giggling at this thought.

But much later, after she had welcomed him home in a more proper fashion than talking with him about Fleurette, she sat propped up on the pillows, languidly holding the sheets to her bare chest. She was content to watch her dear husband sleep peacefully, for he likely needed a good night's rest and it hurt her terribly to imagine him catching only bits of sleep here and there in France, and likely in some disgusting hole. If she could manage it, she would do all in her power to keep Percy from gallivanting off to France to inform Armand Chauvelin that his precious Fleurette had married Amédé. There were many things her husband could escape from, but the wrath of a furious father was likely not on the list, Marguerite feared. And she certainly didn't want to risk it, no matter how amusing Percy found the idea.

~FIN~