Merlin - Where This Road May Go 7/9 (Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Morgana - pg13)
Title: Where This Road May Go 7/9
Author: batgurl88
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Morgana, Gaius, Uther, Nimueh
Wordcount: 5,163 (52,352 overall)
Summary: Arthur is a royal who can't remember his past. Merlin and Gaius are con-men, hoping to return Arthur to Uther for a hefty reward, but little do they know they have the real deal on their hands.
A/N: Some lines and plot aspects respectfully borrowed from both Twentieth Century Fox’s Anastasia and BBC’s Merlin. Beta'd by the outstanding justicemischief.
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Where This Road May Go
Part Seven
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- Paris, France -
"I remember it all so well," a handsome, blue-eyed young man gushed as he stood in the drawing room of Prince Uther’s Parisian home.
The current residence of the prince was a large estate, personally decorated by its frequent houseguest, the Comtesse de Montferrier, as Uther showed little interest in such matters. The room itself was muted beige, a mellow contrast to the stark figure of the prince, who stood near the window, glaring out at the street below.
"Uncle Kay was from Moscow," the man listed, counting off relatives as if they were written out on his hand. "Uncle Tristan was from Copenhagen. And every spring we would-"
"You would visit Spala with your father and brother to hunt," Uther interrupted in an unyielding tone, his brow furrowing. Standing near the door, Morgana shook her head, knowing the interview to be over.
"You have been taught well, but you are wasting my time," the prince said coldly. "Don't you have anything better to do than to impersonate my grandson?"
The young man's eyes widened, caught off-guard.
Pursing her lips, the Comtesse de Montferrier planted herself between the fraud and her cousin.
"Out," Morgana demanded, manhandling him toward the door. "Go on!"
Uther stared out the window, sighing heavily.
"The nerve of some of these men," Morgana spat, shutting the double doors behind her. She scowled as she made her way back to a small table with a tray service on it, brushing her skirts out to sit. "Trying to cheat their way to a fortune. They'll stop at nothing." She shook her head again, reaching to pour herself a cup of tea. "We'll have to come up with harder questions next time - something only the real Arthur would know."
"No," said Uther, his voice soft and tinged with pain. "No more. I can't bear to face another imposter."
"But we've really only just begun to search," Morgana insisted, setting down her cup. "Arthur could still be out there somewhere."
Uther moved away from the window, his eyes coming to rest on a faded photograph of his youngest grandson. He picked up the frame, studying it. "No. It was a fool's dream to think that he would still be alive after all these years." He set the photo face down on the table, turning to her.
"I shall have to resign myself to the fact that my grandson is truly lost to me." Morgana was silent, her head lowered. She'd known the search was a long-shot to begin with, but her dear cousin had been alone and in mourning for his lost family for so long that the faint hope of having part of that family returned to him had been enough to garner her full participation. Now, it seemed as though he was worse for the hunt, the light in his eyes growing a little dimmer with each failed hopeful, as carefully as she tried to weed them out.
She had only met the grand duke once in her life, but she'd studied all she could about him after hearing Uther’s announcement of a reward for Arthur's return, foreseeing the need for a buffer between the prince and any misguided con artists. Despite her best efforts, it was obvious that too many phony grandsons had been let through.
More than anything, she wished for some happiness to re-enter Uther's life, to see his loneliness curbed by a familiar face. The loss of his daughter and grandchildren had been a painful one - one that he'd never fully recovered from. But as his one and only confidant, Morgana knew the loss went much deeper than that. Failing to get young Arthur to safety when he'd been in Uther's charge was a crime for which the prince would never forgive himself.
Uther rubbed a hand over his eyes, looking every bit of his age.
"Are you sure about this?" She asked softly. She would not push him to continue, but neither did she want him to later regret his decision to give up.
He nodded once, certain.
"I will see no more men claiming to be my resurrected family. My heart can't take it." He sat heavily, closing his eyes, his head in his hand. "If you would excuse me, Morgana, I'm very tired. I think I shall take my rest early today."
Morgana nodded, standing to give a curtsy before exiting, pulling the doors closed behind her. Inside the room, Prince Uther was left alone with only the ghosts of his past for company.
* * *
Comtesse Morgana Gabrielle Angelique de Montferrier lived in an extravagantly stylish house, bigger than any Arty had set eyes on before. Everything about it - from the rich and well-tended gardens to the ornate and not-at-all-foreboding doorknocker - reeked of taste and class. He was willing to bet the inside was twice as impressive, but presently, Arty was having trouble making it past the gate to the walkway.
They'd stepped off the boat at Le Havre early that morning, catching their bleary-eyed first glimpses of France in the rising sunlight. The change from Russia had been a bit startling, and even Merlin had managed an impressed hum at the architecture. From there, they'd caught a train straight to Paris, with Gwen practically glued to the window the entire time, no doubt memorizing the buildings for future drawings. Arty, too, had set keen eyes on their surroundings, a thrill of excitement going through him at having finally reached the country where his family was sure to be. Looking out at the pedestrians as they neared the centre of Paris, he couldn't help but search their faces for some sense of familiarity.
Merlin had taken the trip as an opportunity for some last-minute quizzing.
"Where were you born?" he'd asked, staring at Arty intensely.
"The Peterhof Palace," Arty had sighed, pulling his gaze reluctantly from the window. Things had not been awkward between them as he'd feared following his sleepwalking episode aboard the ship. In fact, Merlin had been rather pleasant company after that, teasing him with friendly ease and even letting-up on their lessons a bit. Neither of them had discussed the incident since, a fact for which Arty was truly grateful.
In contrast, the taxi ride to the comtesse's home had been awkwardly quiet, all four companions jittery with nervous energy over what was to come. Now, standing outside the gateway, Arty found himself fussing with his collar, desperate to impress his would-be judge.
"Would you knock it off? It's even worse than when you play with that necklace of yours," Merlin sighed, gently slapping his hands away and straightening the collar himself. His hands lingered for a second, their eyes meeting before Merlin brushed the dirt off his tunic with a half-smile. "There. You look good."
He scoffed, adopting his most pretentious expression. "I always look good, Merlin. You should know this by now."
Merlin hid a grin, rolling his eyes. "Of course, Your Grace, how silly of me."
Arty grinned in return before glancing at the doorway again, thankful Gaius would be taking the lead with this particular meeting.
"You're not going to get anywhere standing out here," Merlin said, nudging him onto the walkway. Gwen followed, wearing her best dress, though Arty could spot the smudges of charcoal on the skirts from the hasty sketches of a water fountain she had been unable to resist on their way over.
Standing on the doorstep, Arty took a deep breath, steeling his nerves as Gaius knocked. The door opened, revealing a woman in a maid's outfit.
"Bonjour," greeted the maid, eyeing their peculiar party with curiosity and perhaps a little disdain.
"Marguerite, qui est-ce?" sounded a voice from inside. A head appeared over the maid's shoulders, a beautiful young woman greeting them with a surprised grin. "Gaius, is that you?" She stepped forward, waving the maid away to allow them entrance.
Gaius swept inside the house, looking quite at ease with their surprising hostess, who Arty recognised as the comtesse herself. The photographs and sketches he'd been shown of her did little justice to her beauty, and not one of them had captured the mysterious glint to her dark eyes that seemed to hint at a secret she delighted in keeping from everyone. With a small tinge of disappointment, Arty noted that he felt no familiarity toward the impressive woman, though he quickly cast the thought aside. It doesn't mean anything, he assured himself, trying to smile. The comtesse only met Arthur once - she wouldn't be all that familiar anyway.
"My dear Gaius." Morgana greeted the older man with a friendly kiss to each cheek. "It's been too long."
Gaius smiled fondly, grasping her hands before him. "My lady, you look beautiful as ever."
The comtesse turned a curious eye to the rest of their group. "But, what's this? You've brought guests?" She settled on Arty, stiffening slightly.
"Forgive me," Gaius apologized, turning to introduce them. "Comtesse, this is Merlin Emyrov and Guinevere Kuznetsova."
Morgana tore her appraising stare away from Arty, granting the other two a pleasant smile as Merlin bowed his head in greeting. Her gaze lingered the longest on Gwen, who curtseyed shyly, a slight blush adorning her cheeks.
"And, of course, may I introduce His Imperial Highness, the Grand Duke Arthur Petrovich," Gaius said with gusto as Arty gave his most formal bow.
The comtesse raised a thin eyebrow, withholding judgement. "I see your unexpected visit was not without its purpose, Gaius," she said archly. Arty couldn't tell from her tone what she was thinking. Blatantly, she sized him up, walking in a quick circle around him as he did his best to appear calm and reserved. "Well, you certainly look the part," she allowed, offering a sly wink to Gwen. "But I suppose we shall have to see."
She turned back to her maid, requesting tea for the five of them as Gwen hastened to brush the lingering charcoal dust from her skirts. Arty fought the urge to smirk at her as her blustering soothed his nerves.
"Through here," she beckoned, leading them from the large hallway to a lush cream-coloured sitting room. She took her place on a pin-striped couch, patting the spot next to her for Gwen to sit and gesturing Arty into the adjacent pale blue wing chair. Gaius settled into the far end of the couch, sitting rigidly, his senses on alert, while Merlin wandered casually to the fireplace, leaning against the mantle.
The maid reappeared with a tray of drinks and Arty felt the full weight of Morgana's rapt attention once again.
"How do you take your tea?" the comtesse asked, her eyes trained intently on him in spite of the casualness of the question. Arty knew it was a test.
"With a bit of lemon, no milk or sugar, please," he said, a hint of a smile on his face. He hadn't had to study that one - it was how he'd always preferred his tea.
She nodded at this, neither a smile nor a frown betraying her thoughts, handing him the saucer just as he'd asked.
The questions ranged in difficulty after that. Gaius had been telling the truth when he'd spoke of the astuteness of the comtesse. She'd ask a round of simple questions to get him to lower his guard before quickly challenging him with a hard one, never showing any indication what she thought of his answers. She merely watched him, saucer in hand, an evaluative expression on her face. All the while, Gwen, Gaius and Merlin stayed quiet, never giving more than a small, encouraging grin when he'd answered a question correctly.
Arty figured it had been more than an hour by the time Morgana set her saucer down.
"One last question," she said, holding his gaze, the look in her eyes not unlike that of a cat toying with its meal. "How did you escape from the palace that night?"
He heard Merlin repress a groan behind him, the first noise the other man had made since their arrival. Arty frowned, considering his answer carefully as he tried to remember if Merlin or Gaius had ever spoken of the night of the siege. Thinking hard about the palace, a foggy image implanted itself in his brain.
"...There was a boy..." he said uncertainly, trying to grasp the memory - hold it - for just a little longer, hardly paying attention to the words falling unbidden from his mouth. "He lived in the palace... He made a- a door in the wall..."
The image disappeared, drifting out of his mind like smoke in spite of his efforts to catch it. Remembering himself, he shook his head. "I'm sorry. That didn't make much sense at all, did it?"
Morgana tilted her head, studying him as if in a new light.
"Well?" Gaius pressed, leaning toward her eagerly. "Is he the grand duke?"
"He answered every question," was Morgana's careful response, her expression thoughtful.
Arty blinked, somewhat shocked to find it was over. He'd done it. The prince's first cousin thought he might be the grand duke. Sudden hope flared in him - he'd be meeting Uther next, and then-
Twisting in his chair to grin at Merlin, he was surprised to find that rather than looking happy, the other man seemed pale and distracted, though he did manage a quick half-smile after a moment. Arty turned back, disappointed. He's probably just shocked I did so well, he decided. Once he got over the fact that Arty was a good student after all, he'd be as pleased as the rest of them.
Instead, he shared a grin with Gwen, who clasped her hands in elation as Gaius gave a relieved smile.
The older man was the first to settle his emotions, down to business again as he turned his attention to the silent comtesse. "So, when will he meet with the prince?"
Morgana met his gaze squarely. "He won’t," she said matter-of-factly.
All of the excitement drained out of Arty, his face falling. "What do you mean?"
The comtesse shot him a sympathetic look. "Prince Uther has decided not to see any more potential Arthurs. I'm sorry that you travelled all this way for nothing."
Gaius frowned, "But surely there must be something you can do!"
She shook her head. "He was extremely clear on the matter. This search has been very trying on him and he refuses to face another disappointment."
"But Arty won't disappoint him!" Gwen insisted, pleading. "You said yourself, he answered all the questions. It means so much to him."
Morgana's eyes softened and Arty felt a swell of affection for Gwen. The comtesse furrowed her brow, thinking. All at once, she brightened.
"Tell me, do you like the ballet?" she asked Arty, giving a mischievous smile at his confusion. "The Russian Ballet is performing tonight at the Paris Opera House. I love the ballet, myself, and Uther always accompanies me when they’re in town. We never miss a performance," she finished meaningfully, her eyes on Gaius.
Gaius broke into a smile once more, nodding his understanding. "Thank you, my lady," he said as Gwen gave Arty an excited hug.
Arty felt relief course through him once more. Tonight! He'd see the prince that soon. It all felt so much more real now, and he found he could hardly wrap his head around it.
Morgana smiled, talking animatedly with Gwen about what she planned to wear that evening, and Gaius looked as if five years had been taken off his life. There was such excitement in the air that none of them even noticed that Merlin had disappeared.
* * *
Merlin stumbled out into the rear garden, loosening his tie as he went, desperate for more air.
When Morgana had asked the question, he'd thought for sure that their con was up. In all of their tutoring of Arty, he'd never once shared the story of the grand duke's escape with him. He'd meant to, of course - it was something the comtesse would surely bring up, and the tale was only known by those who'd been there, giving them an advantage over all others - but every time he'd thought about telling Arty, he'd found an excuse to put it off. A part of him had wanted to keep that night all to himself - like the treasure box - reluctant to part with something that felt special and private. Even Gaius didn't know the full story. He'd lost friends in the palace that night, and had committed the single bravest action of his life only to later believe it'd been in vain. The idea of sharing that with someone else made him uncomfortable, however prudent it might have been for their purposes.
Cursing his own stupidity, he'd waited in disappointed silence for Arty to blow the answer. Instead, he'd received the biggest shock of his life.
Arty was Arthur.
Even now, the realisation surprised him. Part of him felt that he should have known - suspected, at least - but in all of their planning he'd never once considered the idea that he and Gaius would actually find the presumed-dead Grand Duke of Russia! The notion was unbelievable, that he of all people should stumble upon the missing royal as part of a scam to con Prince Uther. But there was no denying it - there was simply no other explanation for Arty knowing that story.
There were other little things as well, now that he thought of it - the facts and trivia that Arty’d seemed to know even without Gaius telling him, the mannerisms he copied almost subconsciously. Even his appearance - Igraine's eyes and fair hair, Ector's strong chin, and Uther's broad shoulders - it all added up to one possible conclusion.
He must have lost his memory just after the siege, he thought, working out the dates Arty had mentioned. Everything fit. He really did find his family in Paris.
Merlin sat heavily on the edge of a water fountain, all of his thoughts crashing to a stop.
His family.
Arty was a velikii kniaz. For some reason, Merlin felt betrayed by this. After all, what right did Arty have, being a grand duke all this time and not knowing? Letting Merlin believe that maybe-
Pulling his tie off completely, he frowned as another thought hit him, this one hurting more than the last.
He'll want to stay.
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Merlin shook his head. Of course, he'd want to stay. Arty had spent his entire life searching for family. Once he found them, he'd never think of leaving again. Especially not once he found out that his family was actually royalty.
He wasn't quite sure why all of this came as such a shock. Over the course of their journey, Merlin foolishly hadn't thought much past the reward money, but some small part of him had thought that maybe, he and Arty could-
What? Merlin thought angrily, standing up and pacing the stone walkway of the garden. Split the reward and run off together? Have another adventure? The idea, silly before, bordered on ludicrous now that he knew who Arty really was. Once Arty's lineage became clear, he'd be swept up again in the royal life, with fine wines and fine parties and fine clothes, and even after all these years Merlin remembered his own part well: watching from the servant's entrance, the outsider looking in on a place he didn't belong. Here Merlin was getting excited about a lousy ten million rubles when Arty was probably heir to one hundred million or more.
There was a pain in his chest that was making it hard to breathe, and Merlin was glad for the distraction when Gaius bounded out the door, unaware of the thoughts he'd interrupted.
"We did it!" Gaius heralded, coming to meet him. "He's going to meet the prince!"
He managed a weak smile, but it disappeared quickly enough. Gaius didn't seem to notice as he clapped Merlin on the back.
"Arty was brilliant. Even I almost believed him!"
If possible, Merlin felt even more miserable. He grimaced, knowing the truth would have to come out sooner or later.
"Gaius-" he started, but stopped as Gwen and Arty rushed out onto the terrace, both looking quite eager.
"Morgana's offered to take us shopping!" Gwen twittered excitedly. "She reckons Arty will need some new clothes for the ballet tonight."
Her face was flushed, and Merlin spared a second to wonder what else the comtesse had said to put that exhilarated blush in her cheeks.
Arty was practically beaming beside her, clearly as excited as she was, only his eyes betraying how overwhelmed he felt. He gifted Merlin with a cocky - if slightly confused - look.
"Surprised I aced it?" he asked in that familiar teasing voice.
Merlin rustled up a small grin. "I- er, yeah. Yeah, wasn't sure if you'd mess it up," he said weakly, trying and failing for the same mocking tone.
Smiling more exuberantly than he'd seen him in years, Gaius clapped him on his shoulder a second time. "Well, then, we mustn’t keep the comtesse waiting," he said, heading back inside with Gwen and Arty.
"Right," said Merlin half-heartedly, watching them leave, a sinking feeling taking up firm residence in his gut.
* * *
Paris was even more extravagant than Arty had imagined, and he could hardly stop himself from staring up in amazement at such magnificent sights as the Eiffel Tower or L'Arc de Triomphe - ten times more beautiful in real life than he'd read in books.
Gwen, too, seemed overwhelmed by the city, stopping in outright amazement at an artist painting on the sidewalk, the vivid colours in his depictions of Paris nightlife astonishing her. Eagerly, she'd peppered the artist with questions in broken French until Gaius had finally managed to drag her away.
Morgana, however, was right at home in spite of her part-Danish heritage, guiding them through the shopping district like a woman born for nothing else. Claiming that she rarely had the chance to introduce new people to the city, she pointed out all the sights, tucking Gwen's arm in hers as they strolled down the street, smiling winningly at the vendors they passed.
Inexplicably morose, Merlin trailed at the rear of the group, his hands in his pockets as Gaius aided the comtesse in searching out appropriate theatre-wear for Arty.
When it came to the actual shopping, it seemed that Morgana's generosity knew no bounds. She'd hardly glanced at the prices of the suits they inspected, haggling with the store owners with a ferocity that astonished Arty, until they were literally weighed down with purchases well-below the tagged price. She'd done it all with a viciously sharp smile on her face, waving off their gratitude with a flip of her hand.
"I've all this money from my estate, and hardly a thing to spend it on these days," she'd explained carelessly, running her hands along the fabric of a grey jacket with a nod of approval to the waiting salesman. "You four are the most exciting thing to happen around here in months."
Of course, Arty suspected there might be another layer to her charity, if the flirtatious glances she kept shooting in Gwen's direction were any indication. She'd insisted on Gwen trying clothes on as well, purchasing three new dresses for her in a sweep of benevolence, claiming them to be too perfect for her not to have them.
Merlin was also included in the shopping spree, though he had been rather quiet since they'd left the comtesse's home, distractedly nodding his approval of the suit Gwen had suggested for him without really looking at it. Arty was confused by his behaviour. He wanted to call him out on it, but every time he caught the other man's eye, Merlin would give an overly-cheerful smile and become suddenly interested in a nearby mannequin or display.
Their shopping finally brought them to a very expensive shop on Avenue des Champs-Élysées, Morgana deciding to have two of Arty’s suits tailored for him. While Gwen marvelled at her new dresses, Arty stood uncomfortably before a mirror, a handful of strangers taking measurements and holding up swatches of fabric against him. Morgana instructed them in flawless French, a small shake of her head dismissing the less desirable choices. After what seemed like a lifetime, the tailors finally finished and moved away.
Turning to face the three-way mirror, Arty gawked at his reflection, hardly recognising the person staring back at him. Never had he dreamed he would one day be wearing such fine shirts and suits. He was used to being clothed in the castoffs of other peoples' charity, but looking at his reflection now, the idea that he could really be the Grand Duke Arthur Ectorovich Petrovin didn't seem so impossible.
Up until now, the thought that he might be the grand duke had been a bit of a dream - a fantasy he'd indulged in, all the while guarding himself against disappointment, reluctant to let himself hope too much. Sure, there had been occasions where he'd felt he knew the things Gaius was teaching him before the older man even said them, or when a face in an aged photograph had appeared too familiar somehow, but he'd chalked them up to his overactive imagination and his apparently rather impressive acting skills.
Now, with Morgana's blessing behind him, Arty allowed himself to believe it. By tomorrow, he could be a Grand Duke of Russia, back with his family at last and welcomed into Prince Uther's home with open arms. The thought was staggering, and the pressure to impress Prince Uther at the ballet tripled. This could be his one chance to be reunited with his family, and more than anything, he feared ruining it - feared that he would not be the grandson the prince wanted.
Arty sighed, his eyes raking up and down his reflection again, pulling the soft gray material of the suit jacket until it was smooth across his front. Behind him, Gwen beamed appreciatively while Merlin watched him with an unreadable expression.
"I think it'll do," Morgana said simply, nodding at the head tailor who seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at her hard-won approval.
Gaius nodded his agreement. "We still need the formal one for the ballet, though."
Hearing a brief, resigned sigh from the tailor nearest his right, Arty found himself swarmed by a renewed storm of pins and fabrics.
* * *
With the shopping finally behind them, Merlin had hoped to return to the hotel for some solitude and possibly to drown his sorrows in a bottle of Mouton-Rothschild. However, fate - or rather, Morgana - had other plans.
She directed them to a charming little French bistro for a late lunch, her name and reputation securing them the best table. After trying and failing to sort out their menus, the comtesse ordered for everyone and the five of them broke off into conversation.
Morgana teased the folded papers of Gwen's artwork out of her, loudly exclaiming over their brilliance and marvelling at the sketches of her companions, to Gwen's bashful delight. Happily, she regaled Gwen with stories of all the interesting artists she'd met in Paris, and of the art museums that she absolutely had to visit while she was there.
Enthralled, Gwen hung on her every word, hardly noticing that her broccoli quiche had arrived.
Arty, on the other hand, was vibrating with nervous energy, his fingers playing with the stem of his wine glass. If there was any doubt what topic was on his mind, it was soon dispelled when he began peppering Gaius with questions about the Prince of Denmark, as if they hadn't spent the last month and a half teaching him all there was to know about the royal.
At the far end of the table by himself, Merlin quietly tuned out their conversations, moodily resting his head on his fist as he picked at the croque madame Morgana had ordered for him with little interest.
A part of him ached to tell Arty the truth, to lay it all out for him and ask him not to leave, but he had more pride than that. Even if Merlin had realised his feelings for what they were before now, he didn't put much stock in Arty feeling the same way. No one in their right mind would give up a royal heritage for him.
Gwen and Morgana were laughing, their heads ducked together like two women plotting the end of the world. Merlin sighed, taking a sip of his wine. At least someone was happy.
What if he just called the whole thing off? He could tell Gaius and Gwen and Arty that it was over, that they'd tried their best but there was no way Arty would ever convince Uther, and that they'd be better off just leaving instead. He could suggest they try their luck at finding Arty's family in another town. It would be so easy - to tour the rest of France together, seeing the things Arty had only read about in books, the other three none the wiser about what had almost been.
Arty grinned at something Gaius was saying, playing with his necklace, and Merlin felt his stomach drop once more. He couldn't do it. He couldn't rob Arty of his one chance to find a family - his one chance to be truly content - no matter how selfishly he wanted to. Arty deserved to be happy, and that meant being with Uther again.
Merlin pushed his plate away, his appetite lost. It was settled. He'd do the job he came to do, and he'd see Arty back with his family while he was at it. But that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.
Gaius and Arty had turned their conversation from Uther to Paris itself, the latter eagerly comparing it to everything he'd read on the subject.
"...certainly an improvement, but then, anything's better than ship rations, right, Merlin?" Arty turned to him expectantly.
"Hmm? Oh. Right." he nodded glumly, only half-listening.
Gaius raised an eyebrow, silently questioning his behaviour, but Merlin shook his head imperceptibly. He'd fill him in later, away from attentive ears. No use letting the others know about the con.
Having apparently gotten the answer he'd wanted, Arty moved his focus back to their conversation, animatedly discussing the Parisian architecture in comparison to their own.
Merlin drained the rest of his glass, caring little for the poor manners it reflected, and turned his gaze out the window. He'd do right by the grand duke that evening, but for now, he felt more than justified to wallow in self-pity, trying not to think about how eager Arty was to leave him.
Part Eight
Translations (for those that want them):
Marguerite, qui est-ce? - (French) Marguerite, who is it?
Author: batgurl88
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Morgana, Gaius, Uther, Nimueh
Wordcount: 5,163 (52,352 overall)
Summary: Arthur is a royal who can't remember his past. Merlin and Gaius are con-men, hoping to return Arthur to Uther for a hefty reward, but little do they know they have the real deal on their hands.
A/N: Some lines and plot aspects respectfully borrowed from both Twentieth Century Fox’s Anastasia and BBC’s Merlin. Beta'd by the outstanding justicemischief.
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Where This Road May Go
Part Seven
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- Paris, France -
"I remember it all so well," a handsome, blue-eyed young man gushed as he stood in the drawing room of Prince Uther’s Parisian home.
The current residence of the prince was a large estate, personally decorated by its frequent houseguest, the Comtesse de Montferrier, as Uther showed little interest in such matters. The room itself was muted beige, a mellow contrast to the stark figure of the prince, who stood near the window, glaring out at the street below.
"Uncle Kay was from Moscow," the man listed, counting off relatives as if they were written out on his hand. "Uncle Tristan was from Copenhagen. And every spring we would-"
"You would visit Spala with your father and brother to hunt," Uther interrupted in an unyielding tone, his brow furrowing. Standing near the door, Morgana shook her head, knowing the interview to be over.
"You have been taught well, but you are wasting my time," the prince said coldly. "Don't you have anything better to do than to impersonate my grandson?"
The young man's eyes widened, caught off-guard.
Pursing her lips, the Comtesse de Montferrier planted herself between the fraud and her cousin.
"Out," Morgana demanded, manhandling him toward the door. "Go on!"
Uther stared out the window, sighing heavily.
"The nerve of some of these men," Morgana spat, shutting the double doors behind her. She scowled as she made her way back to a small table with a tray service on it, brushing her skirts out to sit. "Trying to cheat their way to a fortune. They'll stop at nothing." She shook her head again, reaching to pour herself a cup of tea. "We'll have to come up with harder questions next time - something only the real Arthur would know."
"No," said Uther, his voice soft and tinged with pain. "No more. I can't bear to face another imposter."
"But we've really only just begun to search," Morgana insisted, setting down her cup. "Arthur could still be out there somewhere."
Uther moved away from the window, his eyes coming to rest on a faded photograph of his youngest grandson. He picked up the frame, studying it. "No. It was a fool's dream to think that he would still be alive after all these years." He set the photo face down on the table, turning to her.
"I shall have to resign myself to the fact that my grandson is truly lost to me." Morgana was silent, her head lowered. She'd known the search was a long-shot to begin with, but her dear cousin had been alone and in mourning for his lost family for so long that the faint hope of having part of that family returned to him had been enough to garner her full participation. Now, it seemed as though he was worse for the hunt, the light in his eyes growing a little dimmer with each failed hopeful, as carefully as she tried to weed them out.
She had only met the grand duke once in her life, but she'd studied all she could about him after hearing Uther’s announcement of a reward for Arthur's return, foreseeing the need for a buffer between the prince and any misguided con artists. Despite her best efforts, it was obvious that too many phony grandsons had been let through.
More than anything, she wished for some happiness to re-enter Uther's life, to see his loneliness curbed by a familiar face. The loss of his daughter and grandchildren had been a painful one - one that he'd never fully recovered from. But as his one and only confidant, Morgana knew the loss went much deeper than that. Failing to get young Arthur to safety when he'd been in Uther's charge was a crime for which the prince would never forgive himself.
Uther rubbed a hand over his eyes, looking every bit of his age.
"Are you sure about this?" She asked softly. She would not push him to continue, but neither did she want him to later regret his decision to give up.
He nodded once, certain.
"I will see no more men claiming to be my resurrected family. My heart can't take it." He sat heavily, closing his eyes, his head in his hand. "If you would excuse me, Morgana, I'm very tired. I think I shall take my rest early today."
Morgana nodded, standing to give a curtsy before exiting, pulling the doors closed behind her. Inside the room, Prince Uther was left alone with only the ghosts of his past for company.
* * *
Comtesse Morgana Gabrielle Angelique de Montferrier lived in an extravagantly stylish house, bigger than any Arty had set eyes on before. Everything about it - from the rich and well-tended gardens to the ornate and not-at-all-foreboding doorknocker - reeked of taste and class. He was willing to bet the inside was twice as impressive, but presently, Arty was having trouble making it past the gate to the walkway.
They'd stepped off the boat at Le Havre early that morning, catching their bleary-eyed first glimpses of France in the rising sunlight. The change from Russia had been a bit startling, and even Merlin had managed an impressed hum at the architecture. From there, they'd caught a train straight to Paris, with Gwen practically glued to the window the entire time, no doubt memorizing the buildings for future drawings. Arty, too, had set keen eyes on their surroundings, a thrill of excitement going through him at having finally reached the country where his family was sure to be. Looking out at the pedestrians as they neared the centre of Paris, he couldn't help but search their faces for some sense of familiarity.
Merlin had taken the trip as an opportunity for some last-minute quizzing.
"Where were you born?" he'd asked, staring at Arty intensely.
"The Peterhof Palace," Arty had sighed, pulling his gaze reluctantly from the window. Things had not been awkward between them as he'd feared following his sleepwalking episode aboard the ship. In fact, Merlin had been rather pleasant company after that, teasing him with friendly ease and even letting-up on their lessons a bit. Neither of them had discussed the incident since, a fact for which Arty was truly grateful.
In contrast, the taxi ride to the comtesse's home had been awkwardly quiet, all four companions jittery with nervous energy over what was to come. Now, standing outside the gateway, Arty found himself fussing with his collar, desperate to impress his would-be judge.
"Would you knock it off? It's even worse than when you play with that necklace of yours," Merlin sighed, gently slapping his hands away and straightening the collar himself. His hands lingered for a second, their eyes meeting before Merlin brushed the dirt off his tunic with a half-smile. "There. You look good."
He scoffed, adopting his most pretentious expression. "I always look good, Merlin. You should know this by now."
Merlin hid a grin, rolling his eyes. "Of course, Your Grace, how silly of me."
Arty grinned in return before glancing at the doorway again, thankful Gaius would be taking the lead with this particular meeting.
"You're not going to get anywhere standing out here," Merlin said, nudging him onto the walkway. Gwen followed, wearing her best dress, though Arty could spot the smudges of charcoal on the skirts from the hasty sketches of a water fountain she had been unable to resist on their way over.
Standing on the doorstep, Arty took a deep breath, steeling his nerves as Gaius knocked. The door opened, revealing a woman in a maid's outfit.
"Bonjour," greeted the maid, eyeing their peculiar party with curiosity and perhaps a little disdain.
"Marguerite, qui est-ce?" sounded a voice from inside. A head appeared over the maid's shoulders, a beautiful young woman greeting them with a surprised grin. "Gaius, is that you?" She stepped forward, waving the maid away to allow them entrance.
Gaius swept inside the house, looking quite at ease with their surprising hostess, who Arty recognised as the comtesse herself. The photographs and sketches he'd been shown of her did little justice to her beauty, and not one of them had captured the mysterious glint to her dark eyes that seemed to hint at a secret she delighted in keeping from everyone. With a small tinge of disappointment, Arty noted that he felt no familiarity toward the impressive woman, though he quickly cast the thought aside. It doesn't mean anything, he assured himself, trying to smile. The comtesse only met Arthur once - she wouldn't be all that familiar anyway.
"My dear Gaius." Morgana greeted the older man with a friendly kiss to each cheek. "It's been too long."
Gaius smiled fondly, grasping her hands before him. "My lady, you look beautiful as ever."
The comtesse turned a curious eye to the rest of their group. "But, what's this? You've brought guests?" She settled on Arty, stiffening slightly.
"Forgive me," Gaius apologized, turning to introduce them. "Comtesse, this is Merlin Emyrov and Guinevere Kuznetsova."
Morgana tore her appraising stare away from Arty, granting the other two a pleasant smile as Merlin bowed his head in greeting. Her gaze lingered the longest on Gwen, who curtseyed shyly, a slight blush adorning her cheeks.
"And, of course, may I introduce His Imperial Highness, the Grand Duke Arthur Petrovich," Gaius said with gusto as Arty gave his most formal bow.
The comtesse raised a thin eyebrow, withholding judgement. "I see your unexpected visit was not without its purpose, Gaius," she said archly. Arty couldn't tell from her tone what she was thinking. Blatantly, she sized him up, walking in a quick circle around him as he did his best to appear calm and reserved. "Well, you certainly look the part," she allowed, offering a sly wink to Gwen. "But I suppose we shall have to see."
She turned back to her maid, requesting tea for the five of them as Gwen hastened to brush the lingering charcoal dust from her skirts. Arty fought the urge to smirk at her as her blustering soothed his nerves.
"Through here," she beckoned, leading them from the large hallway to a lush cream-coloured sitting room. She took her place on a pin-striped couch, patting the spot next to her for Gwen to sit and gesturing Arty into the adjacent pale blue wing chair. Gaius settled into the far end of the couch, sitting rigidly, his senses on alert, while Merlin wandered casually to the fireplace, leaning against the mantle.
The maid reappeared with a tray of drinks and Arty felt the full weight of Morgana's rapt attention once again.
"How do you take your tea?" the comtesse asked, her eyes trained intently on him in spite of the casualness of the question. Arty knew it was a test.
"With a bit of lemon, no milk or sugar, please," he said, a hint of a smile on his face. He hadn't had to study that one - it was how he'd always preferred his tea.
She nodded at this, neither a smile nor a frown betraying her thoughts, handing him the saucer just as he'd asked.
The questions ranged in difficulty after that. Gaius had been telling the truth when he'd spoke of the astuteness of the comtesse. She'd ask a round of simple questions to get him to lower his guard before quickly challenging him with a hard one, never showing any indication what she thought of his answers. She merely watched him, saucer in hand, an evaluative expression on her face. All the while, Gwen, Gaius and Merlin stayed quiet, never giving more than a small, encouraging grin when he'd answered a question correctly.
Arty figured it had been more than an hour by the time Morgana set her saucer down.
"One last question," she said, holding his gaze, the look in her eyes not unlike that of a cat toying with its meal. "How did you escape from the palace that night?"
He heard Merlin repress a groan behind him, the first noise the other man had made since their arrival. Arty frowned, considering his answer carefully as he tried to remember if Merlin or Gaius had ever spoken of the night of the siege. Thinking hard about the palace, a foggy image implanted itself in his brain.
"...There was a boy..." he said uncertainly, trying to grasp the memory - hold it - for just a little longer, hardly paying attention to the words falling unbidden from his mouth. "He lived in the palace... He made a- a door in the wall..."
The image disappeared, drifting out of his mind like smoke in spite of his efforts to catch it. Remembering himself, he shook his head. "I'm sorry. That didn't make much sense at all, did it?"
Morgana tilted her head, studying him as if in a new light.
"Well?" Gaius pressed, leaning toward her eagerly. "Is he the grand duke?"
"He answered every question," was Morgana's careful response, her expression thoughtful.
Arty blinked, somewhat shocked to find it was over. He'd done it. The prince's first cousin thought he might be the grand duke. Sudden hope flared in him - he'd be meeting Uther next, and then-
Twisting in his chair to grin at Merlin, he was surprised to find that rather than looking happy, the other man seemed pale and distracted, though he did manage a quick half-smile after a moment. Arty turned back, disappointed. He's probably just shocked I did so well, he decided. Once he got over the fact that Arty was a good student after all, he'd be as pleased as the rest of them.
Instead, he shared a grin with Gwen, who clasped her hands in elation as Gaius gave a relieved smile.
The older man was the first to settle his emotions, down to business again as he turned his attention to the silent comtesse. "So, when will he meet with the prince?"
Morgana met his gaze squarely. "He won’t," she said matter-of-factly.
All of the excitement drained out of Arty, his face falling. "What do you mean?"
The comtesse shot him a sympathetic look. "Prince Uther has decided not to see any more potential Arthurs. I'm sorry that you travelled all this way for nothing."
Gaius frowned, "But surely there must be something you can do!"
She shook her head. "He was extremely clear on the matter. This search has been very trying on him and he refuses to face another disappointment."
"But Arty won't disappoint him!" Gwen insisted, pleading. "You said yourself, he answered all the questions. It means so much to him."
Morgana's eyes softened and Arty felt a swell of affection for Gwen. The comtesse furrowed her brow, thinking. All at once, she brightened.
"Tell me, do you like the ballet?" she asked Arty, giving a mischievous smile at his confusion. "The Russian Ballet is performing tonight at the Paris Opera House. I love the ballet, myself, and Uther always accompanies me when they’re in town. We never miss a performance," she finished meaningfully, her eyes on Gaius.
Gaius broke into a smile once more, nodding his understanding. "Thank you, my lady," he said as Gwen gave Arty an excited hug.
Arty felt relief course through him once more. Tonight! He'd see the prince that soon. It all felt so much more real now, and he found he could hardly wrap his head around it.
Morgana smiled, talking animatedly with Gwen about what she planned to wear that evening, and Gaius looked as if five years had been taken off his life. There was such excitement in the air that none of them even noticed that Merlin had disappeared.
* * *
Merlin stumbled out into the rear garden, loosening his tie as he went, desperate for more air.
When Morgana had asked the question, he'd thought for sure that their con was up. In all of their tutoring of Arty, he'd never once shared the story of the grand duke's escape with him. He'd meant to, of course - it was something the comtesse would surely bring up, and the tale was only known by those who'd been there, giving them an advantage over all others - but every time he'd thought about telling Arty, he'd found an excuse to put it off. A part of him had wanted to keep that night all to himself - like the treasure box - reluctant to part with something that felt special and private. Even Gaius didn't know the full story. He'd lost friends in the palace that night, and had committed the single bravest action of his life only to later believe it'd been in vain. The idea of sharing that with someone else made him uncomfortable, however prudent it might have been for their purposes.
Cursing his own stupidity, he'd waited in disappointed silence for Arty to blow the answer. Instead, he'd received the biggest shock of his life.
Arty was Arthur.
Even now, the realisation surprised him. Part of him felt that he should have known - suspected, at least - but in all of their planning he'd never once considered the idea that he and Gaius would actually find the presumed-dead Grand Duke of Russia! The notion was unbelievable, that he of all people should stumble upon the missing royal as part of a scam to con Prince Uther. But there was no denying it - there was simply no other explanation for Arty knowing that story.
There were other little things as well, now that he thought of it - the facts and trivia that Arty’d seemed to know even without Gaius telling him, the mannerisms he copied almost subconsciously. Even his appearance - Igraine's eyes and fair hair, Ector's strong chin, and Uther's broad shoulders - it all added up to one possible conclusion.
He must have lost his memory just after the siege, he thought, working out the dates Arty had mentioned. Everything fit. He really did find his family in Paris.
Merlin sat heavily on the edge of a water fountain, all of his thoughts crashing to a stop.
His family.
Arty was a velikii kniaz. For some reason, Merlin felt betrayed by this. After all, what right did Arty have, being a grand duke all this time and not knowing? Letting Merlin believe that maybe-
Pulling his tie off completely, he frowned as another thought hit him, this one hurting more than the last.
He'll want to stay.
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Merlin shook his head. Of course, he'd want to stay. Arty had spent his entire life searching for family. Once he found them, he'd never think of leaving again. Especially not once he found out that his family was actually royalty.
He wasn't quite sure why all of this came as such a shock. Over the course of their journey, Merlin foolishly hadn't thought much past the reward money, but some small part of him had thought that maybe, he and Arty could-
What? Merlin thought angrily, standing up and pacing the stone walkway of the garden. Split the reward and run off together? Have another adventure? The idea, silly before, bordered on ludicrous now that he knew who Arty really was. Once Arty's lineage became clear, he'd be swept up again in the royal life, with fine wines and fine parties and fine clothes, and even after all these years Merlin remembered his own part well: watching from the servant's entrance, the outsider looking in on a place he didn't belong. Here Merlin was getting excited about a lousy ten million rubles when Arty was probably heir to one hundred million or more.
There was a pain in his chest that was making it hard to breathe, and Merlin was glad for the distraction when Gaius bounded out the door, unaware of the thoughts he'd interrupted.
"We did it!" Gaius heralded, coming to meet him. "He's going to meet the prince!"
He managed a weak smile, but it disappeared quickly enough. Gaius didn't seem to notice as he clapped Merlin on the back.
"Arty was brilliant. Even I almost believed him!"
If possible, Merlin felt even more miserable. He grimaced, knowing the truth would have to come out sooner or later.
"Gaius-" he started, but stopped as Gwen and Arty rushed out onto the terrace, both looking quite eager.
"Morgana's offered to take us shopping!" Gwen twittered excitedly. "She reckons Arty will need some new clothes for the ballet tonight."
Her face was flushed, and Merlin spared a second to wonder what else the comtesse had said to put that exhilarated blush in her cheeks.
Arty was practically beaming beside her, clearly as excited as she was, only his eyes betraying how overwhelmed he felt. He gifted Merlin with a cocky - if slightly confused - look.
"Surprised I aced it?" he asked in that familiar teasing voice.
Merlin rustled up a small grin. "I- er, yeah. Yeah, wasn't sure if you'd mess it up," he said weakly, trying and failing for the same mocking tone.
Smiling more exuberantly than he'd seen him in years, Gaius clapped him on his shoulder a second time. "Well, then, we mustn’t keep the comtesse waiting," he said, heading back inside with Gwen and Arty.
"Right," said Merlin half-heartedly, watching them leave, a sinking feeling taking up firm residence in his gut.
* * *
Paris was even more extravagant than Arty had imagined, and he could hardly stop himself from staring up in amazement at such magnificent sights as the Eiffel Tower or L'Arc de Triomphe - ten times more beautiful in real life than he'd read in books.
Gwen, too, seemed overwhelmed by the city, stopping in outright amazement at an artist painting on the sidewalk, the vivid colours in his depictions of Paris nightlife astonishing her. Eagerly, she'd peppered the artist with questions in broken French until Gaius had finally managed to drag her away.
Morgana, however, was right at home in spite of her part-Danish heritage, guiding them through the shopping district like a woman born for nothing else. Claiming that she rarely had the chance to introduce new people to the city, she pointed out all the sights, tucking Gwen's arm in hers as they strolled down the street, smiling winningly at the vendors they passed.
Inexplicably morose, Merlin trailed at the rear of the group, his hands in his pockets as Gaius aided the comtesse in searching out appropriate theatre-wear for Arty.
When it came to the actual shopping, it seemed that Morgana's generosity knew no bounds. She'd hardly glanced at the prices of the suits they inspected, haggling with the store owners with a ferocity that astonished Arty, until they were literally weighed down with purchases well-below the tagged price. She'd done it all with a viciously sharp smile on her face, waving off their gratitude with a flip of her hand.
"I've all this money from my estate, and hardly a thing to spend it on these days," she'd explained carelessly, running her hands along the fabric of a grey jacket with a nod of approval to the waiting salesman. "You four are the most exciting thing to happen around here in months."
Of course, Arty suspected there might be another layer to her charity, if the flirtatious glances she kept shooting in Gwen's direction were any indication. She'd insisted on Gwen trying clothes on as well, purchasing three new dresses for her in a sweep of benevolence, claiming them to be too perfect for her not to have them.
Merlin was also included in the shopping spree, though he had been rather quiet since they'd left the comtesse's home, distractedly nodding his approval of the suit Gwen had suggested for him without really looking at it. Arty was confused by his behaviour. He wanted to call him out on it, but every time he caught the other man's eye, Merlin would give an overly-cheerful smile and become suddenly interested in a nearby mannequin or display.
Their shopping finally brought them to a very expensive shop on Avenue des Champs-Élysées, Morgana deciding to have two of Arty’s suits tailored for him. While Gwen marvelled at her new dresses, Arty stood uncomfortably before a mirror, a handful of strangers taking measurements and holding up swatches of fabric against him. Morgana instructed them in flawless French, a small shake of her head dismissing the less desirable choices. After what seemed like a lifetime, the tailors finally finished and moved away.
Turning to face the three-way mirror, Arty gawked at his reflection, hardly recognising the person staring back at him. Never had he dreamed he would one day be wearing such fine shirts and suits. He was used to being clothed in the castoffs of other peoples' charity, but looking at his reflection now, the idea that he could really be the Grand Duke Arthur Ectorovich Petrovin didn't seem so impossible.
Up until now, the thought that he might be the grand duke had been a bit of a dream - a fantasy he'd indulged in, all the while guarding himself against disappointment, reluctant to let himself hope too much. Sure, there had been occasions where he'd felt he knew the things Gaius was teaching him before the older man even said them, or when a face in an aged photograph had appeared too familiar somehow, but he'd chalked them up to his overactive imagination and his apparently rather impressive acting skills.
Now, with Morgana's blessing behind him, Arty allowed himself to believe it. By tomorrow, he could be a Grand Duke of Russia, back with his family at last and welcomed into Prince Uther's home with open arms. The thought was staggering, and the pressure to impress Prince Uther at the ballet tripled. This could be his one chance to be reunited with his family, and more than anything, he feared ruining it - feared that he would not be the grandson the prince wanted.
Arty sighed, his eyes raking up and down his reflection again, pulling the soft gray material of the suit jacket until it was smooth across his front. Behind him, Gwen beamed appreciatively while Merlin watched him with an unreadable expression.
"I think it'll do," Morgana said simply, nodding at the head tailor who seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at her hard-won approval.
Gaius nodded his agreement. "We still need the formal one for the ballet, though."
Hearing a brief, resigned sigh from the tailor nearest his right, Arty found himself swarmed by a renewed storm of pins and fabrics.
* * *
With the shopping finally behind them, Merlin had hoped to return to the hotel for some solitude and possibly to drown his sorrows in a bottle of Mouton-Rothschild. However, fate - or rather, Morgana - had other plans.
She directed them to a charming little French bistro for a late lunch, her name and reputation securing them the best table. After trying and failing to sort out their menus, the comtesse ordered for everyone and the five of them broke off into conversation.
Morgana teased the folded papers of Gwen's artwork out of her, loudly exclaiming over their brilliance and marvelling at the sketches of her companions, to Gwen's bashful delight. Happily, she regaled Gwen with stories of all the interesting artists she'd met in Paris, and of the art museums that she absolutely had to visit while she was there.
Enthralled, Gwen hung on her every word, hardly noticing that her broccoli quiche had arrived.
Arty, on the other hand, was vibrating with nervous energy, his fingers playing with the stem of his wine glass. If there was any doubt what topic was on his mind, it was soon dispelled when he began peppering Gaius with questions about the Prince of Denmark, as if they hadn't spent the last month and a half teaching him all there was to know about the royal.
At the far end of the table by himself, Merlin quietly tuned out their conversations, moodily resting his head on his fist as he picked at the croque madame Morgana had ordered for him with little interest.
A part of him ached to tell Arty the truth, to lay it all out for him and ask him not to leave, but he had more pride than that. Even if Merlin had realised his feelings for what they were before now, he didn't put much stock in Arty feeling the same way. No one in their right mind would give up a royal heritage for him.
Gwen and Morgana were laughing, their heads ducked together like two women plotting the end of the world. Merlin sighed, taking a sip of his wine. At least someone was happy.
What if he just called the whole thing off? He could tell Gaius and Gwen and Arty that it was over, that they'd tried their best but there was no way Arty would ever convince Uther, and that they'd be better off just leaving instead. He could suggest they try their luck at finding Arty's family in another town. It would be so easy - to tour the rest of France together, seeing the things Arty had only read about in books, the other three none the wiser about what had almost been.
Arty grinned at something Gaius was saying, playing with his necklace, and Merlin felt his stomach drop once more. He couldn't do it. He couldn't rob Arty of his one chance to find a family - his one chance to be truly content - no matter how selfishly he wanted to. Arty deserved to be happy, and that meant being with Uther again.
Merlin pushed his plate away, his appetite lost. It was settled. He'd do the job he came to do, and he'd see Arty back with his family while he was at it. But that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.
Gaius and Arty had turned their conversation from Uther to Paris itself, the latter eagerly comparing it to everything he'd read on the subject.
"...certainly an improvement, but then, anything's better than ship rations, right, Merlin?" Arty turned to him expectantly.
"Hmm? Oh. Right." he nodded glumly, only half-listening.
Gaius raised an eyebrow, silently questioning his behaviour, but Merlin shook his head imperceptibly. He'd fill him in later, away from attentive ears. No use letting the others know about the con.
Having apparently gotten the answer he'd wanted, Arty moved his focus back to their conversation, animatedly discussing the Parisian architecture in comparison to their own.
Merlin drained the rest of his glass, caring little for the poor manners it reflected, and turned his gaze out the window. He'd do right by the grand duke that evening, but for now, he felt more than justified to wallow in self-pity, trying not to think about how eager Arty was to leave him.
Part Eight
Translations (for those that want them):
Marguerite, qui est-ce? - (French) Marguerite, who is it?