renegadeheart | (no subject)

(no subject)

The door, Marguerite is overjoyed to discover, leads the Blakeneys right bck to their Richmond estate, and shuts again to leave them back in the world. In the real world.

Marguerite's cape is taken from her, and she retains her composure perfectly while the staff greet them home and retire to the man and lady's respective rooms, leaving them alone, finally.

She staggers, suddenly overcome and weak.

"...Percy?"

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He moves quickly, taking her elbow in his strong hand. "M'love." It's more a reassurance that he's there than it is an answer of any sort. And a reassurance that she's there.

And that they both saw what they saw.

He's there.

Marguerite turns her face to his, eyes searching his face drastically, looking for the proof that she's not going mad.

"You were there, too? That happened?"

In all the time its been since they first arrived home and then arrived elsewhere, she's never ventured this question out loud, and now she has to know.

"I saw what you saw," he agrees, voice finally allowing a tiny hint of incredulity through. "As for it happening... it is possible we've both gone mad."

Though coordinated hallucinations did strike him as supremely unlikely.

"If I'm going to lose my wits," Marguerite says, slipping both her hands in his, "then I'm glad that I can lose them along with you."

She never wants to be as lonely as she was in the first months of their marriage.

Percy laughs. Here, in private, it's not inane or annoying, it's warm and deep and genuine. He lifts her hands to his lips, kissing her slender fingers.

"As in all things, it shall be my pleasure and my privilege to be by your side, Lady Blakeney."

And here, in private, she gives him a warm, devoted smile with none of the contempt she airs so readily in public.

"Magic," she breathes, exhilaration creeping in on her disbelief and fear. "And people from the future! Oh, Percy, I would think I was mad if you weren't there!"

"Magic," he repeats, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm half-convinced that I'm mad anyway."

Because it's all so absurd.

"We can be mad together," Marguerite decides, removing her hands from his to rest them on his shoulders. "I shall not fear anything if you're with me. Not even heathen Bear Gods or Innkeepers that are really turtles."

Percy laughs again, softly this time, and reaches out to delicately touch her cheek. "You are the bravest woman I know."

And he loves her for it.

Marguerit inclines her head into his touch, submitting to his opinion, depsite the fact that he obviously missed the woman who was a soldier back there.

"Miss Austen said the way back was easier to find once you've been," she reminds him. "Will you be returning?"

As if that weren't merely a case of opportunity.

"Will you?" he asks, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain. The truth is that Percy values his wife's opinion, and he revels in the opportunity to ask it now.

"I made an arrangement with Miss Austen that I would," Marguerite says, though that's not really enough for an answer.

"Oh, but think of the opportunity! To meet people from all over the world, and from the future! How much we could learn!"

In other words, yes; now she's home and recovering, she's already planning her return.

Percy smiles fondly. "I haven't seen you this excited since those days in Paris." When they'd first met.

It's so nice to see her that way again.

Marguerite flushes, pleased to see that fondness in him.

"I don't mean to speak ill of English high society..."

...but she missed her little circle of intelligensia.

"But they don't quite know what to do with a woman as clever as yourself."

It is sad, but true. He loves his country, but Percy will quickly admit that his countrymen are not precisely stimulating.

And they keep talking during the opera.

"I will go back," she decides, with only a gentle questioning tone to highlight that it would only be with his blessing. "I cannot leave the mystery unexplored."

But not tonight. Or rather, this morning. She's too spent for that.

"I suspected you might." Percy smiles again. His heart skips a beat or two to see his wife's quicksilver mind engaged with something so stimulating.

And racing it is, that mind that's so well spoken of throughout Europe. Marguerite will no doubt dream of the endless possibilities when she sleeps, she's so stimulated by the place.

"And, you, my darling Percy. I can't wait to find out what they make of you."

The bravest man in all of Europe, and she's the only woman to know.

Percy laughs. "What is there to make of?" he teases. After all, everyone knows he's a harmless fop.

Well, quite.

Marguerite laughs as well, finding the one strand of his hair that escapes on the ride home or in the excitement of the magic inn. She smooths it back into the immaculate coiffure and makes a play at pretending to straighten his cravat.

"The most fashionable man in England, and favourite of the Prince of Wales? Whatever they think, you won't be ignored."

Except possibly as a strategy to make him go away.

"But if they don't ignore me, however shall I know what to do with them?" Percy asks, one of his hands rising to gently brush across the fingers at his throat.

"I am sure," she says, catching his fingers but leaving her hand against his chest, "you shall think of something."

He always does.

"I'm sure I shall," he agrees.

"After," he squeezes her hand, "a good night's rest."

"As always, your plans are impeccable," Marguerite says, kissing the hand over hers.

They'll go to their beds, and in the morning she'll have the nergy to really appreciate what they've found. In the meantime, there is the delightful prospect of another night under the roof of Blakeney Manor.

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