fic: Scarlet Flowers in her Hair
Last minute entry for the holiday challenge at demmed_elusive: It's new year's eve, and of course Percy and Marguerite are attending a ball. PG, 310 words.
New Year’s Eve was usually marked by a ball of some sort in the circles the Blakeney’s walked in, and this year was no exception. Or rather, it wouldn’t have been had Percy not been wrapped up in the rescue of his wife’s brother and several other Frenchmen scarcely a week before.
As he leaned against a column circling the large room, someone clapped him on the shoulder.
“Sink me, if you caught me by surprise!” He exclaimed as cheerily as he could manage, attempting levity to cover his slight flinch from the soreness of his back.
“And what was that, Sir Percy?” Came the demand of - well, there were enough people here tonight he couldn't quite remember.
“Oh, ‘tis nothing, I quite assure you. Slight carelessness with my horse.” He laughed. Sir Andrew’s eyes caught his across the room, concern lighting in them. As soon as Percy was left alone, he casually made his way over.
“You assured me you were well.” Andrew criticised, smiling as though they were conversing something more light-hearted. “You should not be up and about if your back still causes you pain. Men have been felled by fever with less.”
“And leave Lady Blakeney to attend alone?”
“She knows now, Percy. It is not as though she would wonder why you hurt yourself falling from Saracen when she could not recall you riding him. She would do well alone, and tend her husband’s apologies.”
Speaking of which, she entered the room then, the scarlet jewelled flowers once again adorning her hair. A sly nod this time to what she knew, confirmed so when she caught her husband staring, and smiled, amusement twinkling in her eyes as she took a glass from a passing attendant.
Percy smiled. “If that woman doesn’t become the death of me…”
Andrew watched him straighten his shoulders, put back on his mask, and stride out into the brightness of the room.
New Year’s Eve was usually marked by a ball of some sort in the circles the Blakeney’s walked in, and this year was no exception. Or rather, it wouldn’t have been had Percy not been wrapped up in the rescue of his wife’s brother and several other Frenchmen scarcely a week before.
As he leaned against a column circling the large room, someone clapped him on the shoulder.
“Sink me, if you caught me by surprise!” He exclaimed as cheerily as he could manage, attempting levity to cover his slight flinch from the soreness of his back.
“And what was that, Sir Percy?” Came the demand of - well, there were enough people here tonight he couldn't quite remember.
“Oh, ‘tis nothing, I quite assure you. Slight carelessness with my horse.” He laughed. Sir Andrew’s eyes caught his across the room, concern lighting in them. As soon as Percy was left alone, he casually made his way over.
“You assured me you were well.” Andrew criticised, smiling as though they were conversing something more light-hearted. “You should not be up and about if your back still causes you pain. Men have been felled by fever with less.”
“And leave Lady Blakeney to attend alone?”
“She knows now, Percy. It is not as though she would wonder why you hurt yourself falling from Saracen when she could not recall you riding him. She would do well alone, and tend her husband’s apologies.”
Speaking of which, she entered the room then, the scarlet jewelled flowers once again adorning her hair. A sly nod this time to what she knew, confirmed so when she caught her husband staring, and smiled, amusement twinkling in her eyes as she took a glass from a passing attendant.
Percy smiled. “If that woman doesn’t become the death of me…”
Andrew watched him straighten his shoulders, put back on his mask, and stride out into the brightness of the room.