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Marguerite Blakeney (nee St. Just) was many things. You could call her foolhardy. You could call her headstrong. But the one thing that was definitely true was that– no matter what her husband apparently thought– she was not an idiot.
The suspicion of what Percy was actually getting up to in his free time started fairly quickly after the initial reports of what the Scarlet Pimpernel was up to came to England. Percy may pretend to be an idiot, but Marguerite still was haunted with days when he allowed her to see behind the mask. She knew there was more to her husband than meets the eye, and she intended to find it again, even if it killed her– because if the way things were between them kept going, soon there would be nothing left of her regardless. So when the rumors started of a mysterious band of gentlemen freeing a group of aristocrats from the guillotine started swirling around the time her husband started taking mysterious trips ‘to the North’, Marguerite started getting suspicious.
She was thrown off for a time when Percy started going around announcing to anyone who would hear that the Pimpernel was him. However, Suzanne De Tournay, who came over from France after being rescued by the hero, put the final nail in the coffin of Percy’s attempt to keep his alter ego a secret from his wife. She had with her a note that included the sign of the Pimpernel– and it was a sign Marguerite was familiar with. She often saw it on the closed doors leading to her husband’s side of the house.
Percy apparently was a fool if he thought his family crest was in any way, shape, or form subtle. But she loved him– fool that he was– and if he didn’t want her to know his secret, she could pretend she was a fool as well.
The next day, her resolve was put to the test when Percy told her that he and Armand would be going hunting– a ridiculous prospect, as Armand had no clue how to hunt, having missed the opportunity to learn as a poor orphan.
“You and Armand?” Marguerite asked in surprise as her husband told her his plans blithely over tea.
“La, my dear!” Percy said flippantly, “You can’t expect me to hunt alone! Someone simply must be there to brag about my exploits when I return.” As carefree as he may want to seem, Marguerite noticed a tension in him that hadn’t been there before.
Marguerite schooled her expression into as bland a face as she could manage. “Well at least he’s not running away to Paris,” She said good naturedly. “You will be careful, won’t you Armand?” She asked. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you and you’ve never shot before.”
“You worry too much,” Percy interrupted jollily. “I’ll take good care of the boy, you’ll see.”
Marguerite waited for him to stop moving long enough to look him straight in the eyes. “You better,” She warned before turning back to her breakfast. She pretended not to notice the long glance exchanged between gentlemen.
A few weeks later, Marguerite found herself at a party on her own. It was not the first time she had found herself at a party solo– Percy was away so often now– but it was the first time since she had found out about her husband’s adventures. And so Marguerite found herself distracted, and for the first time in her life, unable to hide it. Eventually, her entourage noticed, and she excused herself pleading the need for more air. Nobody followed her, and so nobody was aware she was in the room when two of Percy’s friends– Andrew Ffoulkes and Anthony Dewhurst– started talking.
“You know she can’t be trusted,” Dewhurst was whispering, “Not after the whole business with the St. Cyrs.”
“I just think she has a right to know,” Ffoulkes was arguing back. “It is her husband and her brother . . . she should know that they . . .”
“That does not matter anymore, does it?” Dewhurst interrupted. “They are both fine. And the boss demanded specifically that we not tell Lady Blakeney about what he is up to.”
“Very well,” the agreement sounded sheepish, “I just feel as if Armand would have wanted her to know.”
“Armand is not in charge and you know it! Now, let us return to the party before your lady notices that we are missing!” And with that, the two were off, and Marguerite was left alone.
Weakly, Marguerite felt her way across the room, sitting down on the couch as her strength left her. So that was why her husband no longer loved her. In her attempt to keep him, she had lost him. Even now, Marguerite wanted to make her way to him and tell him the truth . . . but she held back. He was not here. And even if he was . . . she shook her head. If he believed the worst of her for something that was unintentional– for Chauvelin had promised nobody would get hurt– what would he do when he found out the truth behind the situation? She had already lost her husband, long before Chauvelin had blackmailed her. Now she had to just accept it.
Her husband may not love her– and he might never love her again. But that did not mean that she did not love him. And if loving him meant pretending she had no idea what he did in his freetime– and making sure that nobody else did either– she could do that.
Marguerite took a deep breath and used her kerchief to dab her eyes before she closed them. She gave herself one more moment to mourn the loss of her husband and the life she’d longed for them to have. Then she opened those eyes, put on a smile, and went to face the party.
Marguerite the woman was no more. Lady Blakeney lived in her place.
The next morning, she walked into the breakfast area to see that Percy and Armand had returned and were enjoying an English breakfast themselves. “Oh, you have returned!” She said, smiling at them. “How did hunting go?”
“Absolutely splendid,” Percy told her gallantly, “I tell you, dear, your brother is a natural!”
“Percy is too kind,” Armand broke in sheepishly, “It was beginner’s luck, nothing more.”
“Now, Armand, don’t be shy,” Marguerite said with a smile that was more real, “I’ve never known Sir Percy to lie, and I don’t think he’s starting now!” She ignored the momentary pause that brought her husband. “I’m just glad you’ve returned– I have missed you so!” And with that, conversation passed on to what she had been up to. Marguerite chattered cheerfully about her days spent exploring the grounds, and the party the previous night, when they were interrupted.
“Lord Dewhurst, here you see you,” Frank, Percy’s valet, broke in.
“Wonderful! Show old Tony to my office, and I will make my way to him quickly!” He turned to Marguerite, “Sorry, my lady, but I cannot keep the old man waiting.”
“Indeed, that would be most improper,” she agreed. “Do pass on my regards to the man.”
With that, Percy got up, took a few stumbling steps, and froze. Immediately, he swiveled his head toward Marguerite– who just sent him a blithe smile. “Do be careful walking, sir,” She told him, “We wouldn’t want you to get injured when there isn’t any shooting going on.”
Percy coughed, exchanging a glance with Armand. “Right. Have a good day, you two,” he said, fleeing the dining room quickly.
“I should be going myself,” Armand started talking, but she interrupted him.
“Nonsense,” She said. “I have missed you brother– let’s take a nice walk around the grounds; it has been so lonely.”
Things continued on in this manner for a while. Percy and whoever he decided to take with him at the time would “go on a trip up to the North” and Marguerite would be left alone, pretending she knew not what he was talking about. She found herself soothing over rumors while he left– when people questioned his tendency to leave, she would laugh and tell stories of what he was doing up there. “Percy is so restless, you know,” she said, smiling and then smirking, “I believe he just needs to get out of London for a while.” If people read more into what she said, then so be it.
The hardest part was when Percy was home. Having given up on ever hoping that he would love her, Marguerite felt herself pulling away from him. She no longer wanted to demand that he tell her why he’d changed– for fear of hearing the truth from his own mouth. So she took to spending all of the time she could with Armand, when he was around, and only spending the time with Percy she had to– namely at meals and when they went to balls.
The balls themselves were a nice change. Percy would always dance the first and last dance with her– as would be expected from their courtship, when he was loath to let her go and demanded she save those two dances for him.
Normally, Percy’s close friendship with the Prince of Wales along with the prince’s fondness for Marguerite meant that the two were free from outright comments questioning their actions (although that did not mean that rumors didn’t fly underneath conversations– Marguerite had heard enough quiet mutters that Percy was regretting his choice to marry a ‘demmed Frenchie’ to last her a lifetime). However, a few months into Marguerite’s new role as her husband’s secret keeper, a particularly bold and inebriated noble found no need to bite her tongue.
“And where is Sir Percy tonight?” The woman asked, loud enough to quiet several circles around them. “He hasn’t been seen in a while.” “He’s out of town on business,” Marguerite said with a blithe smile. “Our Northern estate needed preparations in case we decide to go there when the season is over.”
“I’m sure, I’m sure,” the lady responded, sounding as if she was, in fact, not sure at all. “It’s just that he seems to be out of town a lot these days.”
Marguerite found herself blushing and decided to use it to her advantage, lowering her eyes to hide the natural flush in her cheeks. “Yes, he is,” she said, smiling a wistful smile that may have been the most true expression she’d worn in a while. “I do miss him so– it is so unfortunate that he has so much to attend to,” she let the words hang in the air as she took a sip of her drink and smiled wickedly. “Of course, the reunions do tend to make the separation worth it.”
The lady choked on her drink. “Oh, I’m sure,” she sputtered.
Marguerite broadened her grin before changing the topic.
Of course, Marguerite was only human, and there were times she slipped up– specifically in front of her husband.
At one point, the party was gossiping about the Scarlet Pimpernel. Percy, who was playing cards, wasn’t around to proclaim that he was the Pimpernel this time– but that didn’t stop other equally ridiculous claims.
“I heard he’s a Spaniard disguised as an Englishman disguised as a Frenchman!” a man yelled.
“That’s ridiculous, everyone knows he’s Moroccan.”
“Well I heard that he ran away from the last rescue riding two horses at once.”
“Three!”
“Four!”
“Four, plus he was herding some sheep!”
“Well I heard he doesn’t need to escape . . . they just let him go!” came another voice.
“Lady Blakeney, surely you know something,” came the voice of a lord who was always hanging around, trying to get in on her circle. “You are French.”
She laughed gaily. “Oh, but I have heard many things about the man in the theater!” she said. She noticed Sir Andrew, Lord Tony, and Lord Ozzy paying close attention to the conversation and decided to have some fun. “Apparently the man fights left-handed to give his opponents a more fair fight,” she laughed, remembering how Percy had tried to impress her with the same tale.
The three men immediately straightened up and took a step as if to come toward her before stopping.
“Surely that isn’t all you’ve heard!” Came the voice of a woman. “That’s clearly not true– give us something more scandalous!”
“Very well” she said, leaning in and watching as the others did too. “I’ve also heard that the man is an exquisite kisser.”
At the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat, the rest of the group looked behind her.
“My dear,” Came the shocked voice of her husband, “What are you talking about?”
“Sir Percy,” She greeted gaily, turning around with a huge smile to hide her surprise, “We were just discussing the latest news of England’s hero!”
“Well I’ve heard the man is a fool,” Armand stepped up behind Percy, “So I don’t know where you’re getting your information from.”
“All this focus on one man is so droll,” Percy said, holding out his hand to Marguerite. “Would you do me the honor of this dance, my dear?”
“Oh, is the night over already?” She asked, taking his hand. “I lost track of time– such an interesting topic.”
Percy led her to the floor, his eyes not leaving her face. “Is everything okay, good sir?” She asked.
“Everything is perfectly fine.”
Marguerite had thought she’d had everything under control. She was doing a good job balancing ‘Percy’s oblivious wife’ with ‘Percy is the SP but doesn’t want me to know’ with ‘oooh I can mess with him now.’ But as all good things do, this period of having things under control came to an end.
Chauvelin was not someone that Marguerite liked to think about. Their affair had been brief and mad, and it had left her filled with regret. That regret had only grown when he had approached her after her engagement announcement and used her new relationship to his advantage.
The fact that he had lied and someone had died because of it? She was never going near the man again.
But unfortunately, she didn’t have the luxury. He came to visit her– apparently in an attempt to continue the blackmail.
“Blackmail again Chauvelin?” She asked, shaking her head. Of course he was only here to use her– just as he always was. “Go ahead. I can assure you that no matter what, my husband’s feelings for me will not change.” Maybe if she could convince him that Percy knew– knew and loved her– he’d go without what he came for.
In that moment, her hopes were dashed when Percy entered the garden. Marguerite tried desperately to telegraph her unhappiness to him– he may hate her, but perhaps the hero within would have pity. But it soon became clear that, for whatever reason, her husband would be no help.
Luckily, it was clear Chauvelin had picked up on the coldness between them, and he’d left without continuing his blackmail attempt. Or so she had thought, until she had received a letter from the man requesting an audience.
“Ah, Lady Blakeney,” spoke the snake. “You arrived.”
“It’s not everyday I’m told I hold someone’s life in my hands. Is that my life or yours?”
“Your brothers.”
“What?”
And then she had learned the horrid truth– her husband was not the only fool in her life. Somehow, her idiot younger brother had been caught. And now his life was being held up as collateral.
Chauvelin didn’t know how cruel he was being, but she supposed he’d only be proud if he did. She had to choose between betraying her husband or the life of her brother. And as much as she longed to turn to Percy, it had become clear when he entered the room that his lack of trust meant he would not be any help.
Preparations for the party flew by and Marguerite tried to plot– but she felt as if the devil himself had caught her and was holding her against a rock. The death of the Scarlet Pimpernel would have been bad enough– but the fact that the hero was the man she loved made it unbearable. At the same time, her brother was all she had growing up– and he was the only thing she had left. Her marriage with Percy had strained her ties in France. And her estrangement from Percy meant she had not made any ties in England. A good man whom she loved would die either way– and how could she choose one over the other?
She had not decided what to do by the time the party came around– and it turned out she wouldn’t have to. Her jailer gave her a key.
“These men are known associate’s of the Scarlet Pimpernel,” Chauvelin pulled her into a dance to tell her. “Talk to them and see if you can arrange a meeting– I will show up in your stead and have proof he is the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
So Marguerite did as she asked, flirting first with Dewhurst and then Ozzy, trying to get a meeting with her husband (honestly, most married couples did not have this issue). Finally, everything was arranged for the bridge at 12:30.
“He will be on the bridge at one,” Marguerite whispered to him.
“Excellent.”
“You will let my brother go?”
“I will let him go when I have that fool’s head cut off– but no harm will come to him as long as I catch his master.”
Marguerite sighed, falling in on herself in relief that was not entirely feigned. “Thank you, Chauvelin,” she said. “Now I find myself in need of some air.” She walked off in the opposite direction of the bridge before looping back around.
At 12:30 on the dot, she felt the familiar presence of Percy come up behind her. “Lady Blakeney,” he said, and she bit her tongue to stop herself from laughing at his ridiculous accent. “No, stay where you are. Looking at me could endanger the lives of those you love.”
Ah. So he still believed her capable of love. “You are the Pimpernel?” She asked, respecting his wishes as she had done for months.
“Yes.” A pause. Percy took the moment to look at his wife. “You asked to meet with me?”
“Yes,” she said. “You must go . . . you cannot be out here . . .”
He cut her off, keeping his eyes on her, desperately trying to read the truth in her face. Warning him was . . . unexpected . . . but he could not get his hopes up. “We have plenty of time. Or did you not tell Chauvelin I would be out here at 1:00?”
She smiled bitterly. Of course he knew. He was always so perceptive about the things that didn’t matter. “Yes,” she said.
“Then we don’t want to disappoint him, do we?” He sneered as she felt him move closer to her.
Marguerite closed her eyes. It was true, she couldn’t turn to Percy. But maybe, just maybe, his heroic side would be more forgiving. “Do you know my brother? Armand St. Just? I have heard he is one of your men.”
“And?” He was so close she could feel the heat of him on her back.
“They’ve arrested him,” suddenly his comforting warmth was taken away as he stepped back in shock. “I would never have done this for Chauvelin– but he made it a condition of releasing my brother.”
“He . . .” Percy was horrified– how had he not known?
“They’ll kill him!” She cut him off, desperate to make him understand the severity of the situation.
In that moment, something unexpected happened. Percy lost the battle with himself. He reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder. “They won’t kill him,” he comforted her, “They’ll question him.”
“But Chauvelin told me!” “Don’t trust Chauvelin.” The statement rang in the silence. Percy considered his next words. For months, he had dreaded knowing the truth– but if Chauvelin had to blackmail her to arrange a meeting, maybe the truth needed to be set free. “But this is not the first time you have done dirty work for Chauvelin, is it?” He stared down at her, desperately trying to harden his heart.
Marguerite closed her eyes. She had hoped he would never ask her this. But there was no hiding the truth, not if she wanted to spare both of them. “He has forced my hand before.”
Percy looked at her in surprise . . . she had been forced? “How has he forced your hand?”
“He threatened to tell . . .” she froze suddenly, having been about to say ‘you’. “He threatened to tell my husband certain things about my past.”
“Such as,” Percy was so caught up in needing to know the truth that he couldn’t stop the demand.
“They seem so petty now,” she shook her head. And suddenly she didn’t want to do this anymore. If she was going to confess– to bare her deepest sins– she wanted to do it to Percy, not the man he pretended to be.
As she went quiet, he hesitated before reaching out to touch her shoulder once more. “Tell me,” he implored her.
“Don’t you think that is something I should tell my husband first?” She asked without thinking, closing her eyes in regret after saying. Silence followed, and she could feel his eyes on the back of her head.
“You have not told him up to this point,” Percy didn’t recognize his own voice at this point as all of the hurt he had carried for months came with it. “What difference does it make?”
“At this point I doubt he’d care,” She responded, straightening up and continuing to look out over the bridge. “He doesn’t care about me one way or the other.”
“That’s not true!” Percy exclaimed, realizing a moment too late that his accent had fallen. Regaining his composure, he started again. “Madame Blakeney, surely you have to see that the man is in love with you.”
“Well he certainly doesn’t act like it,” she said archly, because if he wanted to have this conversation now, then they were having it now. “Always going off and leaving me alone, and when he’s home it’s like he can’t bear to have me around.” She shook her head. “Again, this is a conversation I should be having with my husband,“ she continued, keeping her head straight. “Unless you are him, I suggest we change the subject.”
Percy stared at her. This was not the first time he’d suspected she’d known the truth. Too many times had she made comments about the Pimpernel comparing the two while staring him dead in the eyes. And now this– “Marguerite,” He whispered, desperately and brokenly. “Do you . . .”
The tone in his voice made her start– she hadn’t heard him sound that way since before they had been married, when he had entered her rooms after a long period away only to find her with other admirers. “That’s awfully familiar of you,” She said, “Unless I know you fairly well, I’d prefer you call me ‘Lady Blakeney.’” However, her hand went to rest up on the one he still had on her shoulder, feeling his fingers and his ring.
Percy closed his eyes, fighting the urge to fall to her feet and spill his every secret into her open arms. He wanted to– oh how he wanted to– but how could he know he could trust her?
When he didn’t do or say anything, she let go of his hand. “The clock is ticking, Monsieur,” she said. “You should go before Chauvelin finds you out here.”
“What about you?” he asked.
“I’ll figure something out,” there was something tired in her voice that called to him. “Believe me, sir, I can keep secrets– I figured out one of my husband’s months ago and nobody is any the wiser.” She paused before her voice grew stronger. “Perhaps I’ll tell Chauvelin that I wanted to get a glimpse of you for myself.”
With that, Percy tightened his grip on her shoulder. “That’s very brave of you.”
“It’s foolish of me,” she countered. “If he figures out I warned you, he’ll kill my brother– which I suppose means I’ll have to figure out how to rescue the foolish boy myself.” She reached for his hand again, pulling it off her shoulder. “Away with you now,” she said, stepping away, only to be stopped by his hand tightening on hers.
“Marguerite,” he had to know. “What was Chauvelin going to tell your husband?”
Marguerite left out a cold laugh. Of course he wouldn’t let it go– it was foolish of her to believe he would. “Again,” she shook her head, “Don’t you think that is something I should first tell my husband.”
Percy swallowed before deciding to risk it. Marguerite was risking so much for him this evening– her brother and her life– the least he could do was risk the truth. He pulled on her arm.
Marguerite followed the pull, bracing herself for what she would see in his eyes. But what she saw in those eyes caused her to gasp– this wasn’t the brainless fop, and it wasn’t some sort of unknown hero. No, in his eyes was the look of the man she fell in love with.
“What was Chauvelin going to tell me, Marguerite?” He asked in the silence, surprised when his wife blushed and looked down.
“In France . . . I lived as a loose woman,” she told the ground. “Chauvelin and I met the night we stormed Bastille and we . . . we became lovers,” she could not bear to look at him, but if she had she would have seen pain and not reproach. “It was over quickly– long before I met you. But after we were to be wed, he came to me– ‘how would you like your husband to know what sort of woman you are?’” The silence rang in her ears but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “He told me if I told him where St. Cyr was, he wouldn’t be killed. I believed him, but he lied– he killed him just like he will kill Armand! And now I have both their blood on my hands!” For the first time since she had found out about the fate of the St. Cyr’s, she felt tears come to her eyes.
Percy reached out to grab her cheeks gently, brushing the tears away. “You did not deserve that,” he told her. “Nothing will harm Armand, I promise.” He paused. “And if Shove-lynn decides to come near to you again, I will show him exactly what I think about his petty blackmail.”
“Percy,” she gasped, relieved that she saw nothing but love in his eyes. “That is not necessary!”
“He used your love for me against you,” Percy said, “And that I cannot forgive him. I will rescue Armand, and I will humiliate Chauvelin.”
“We,” she told him.
“Hmm?”
“We will rescue Armand and humiliate Chauvelin– let’s be real I am good at this, I could get us places you couldn’t without even needing a disguise!”
“Right you are,” he said, staring at her admiringly. “My wife, the cleverest woman in Europe? How could I leave her out?” At the sound of a particularly rambunctious party guest, he turned more serious. “Now go my love,” he said. “Back to the party with you.”
“And you?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about me, I can handle Chauvelin.” at her uncertain look, he nudged her. “I’m meeting my men out here anyway.”
With a deep breath and one more look at him, she turned to walk away.
“And Marguerite?” He asked, watching as she stopped walking. “I wouldn’t have left you, if I had known about your past.”
“Oh, Percy!” she gasped, turning around to run back into his arms.
He met her midway, embracing her tightly. They stood there for what felt like forever, stuck in a sweet, much longed for embrace, before she pulled back. “Does my husband know?” She asked between breaths, “How much I love him?”
The only response to that was to kiss her again.
The end