Thread: Au-delà du Temps: Beyond Time (LeatrixSage x SacrlettRose)

The wrought iron gates with the De Lacey family crest slowly swung closed with a squeak as Roarke upon his gelding stormed towards the chateau. The building was a fine example of medieval french splendour. With it's battlement's up top concealed by modernisation from different era's through out time. In fact, it was one of the lucky estates that had survived the recent sackings. Wessex dismounted hardly taking in the history that he owned. Passing the stable hand that came forward his reigns, he straightened his jacket as he took to steps at a time up and didn't bother knocking as he took a side door through the servant's entrance. The maid's barely flinched as he swept through the kitchen, simply bestowing upon their master a curtsy, being far too used to the erratic Englishman. Roarke's night had hardly been a restful one. No he had been far too busy deciphering the parchments purloined from Murat's estate. The estate also boasted constant visitor's through out the night of a dubious nature. The staff never asked questions, knowing better than to ask about the frightening looking men that came to see Lord Wessex. Well? Wessex questioned Annette in murdered King's own french as he strode into the breakfast room and began filling his own plate, liking to keep to English costumes that he was brought up with in his own home. The room itself was splendorous. With high crytsal chandeliers and deep purple damask curtains lining the row up row of windows. It was easy to imagine royalty had dinned her on many occasions as well as other elegant and important guests. Roake himself had once hosted such an event. One time was too many. It was a woman's work to sort such things out and seeing as he was without a wife it was unlikely his room would see such a glorious event ever again. At least not in his lifetime. Which hardly promised to be long anyway. Oui my Lord. Annette curtsied. Madam has agreed to helping you with aiding the Seamstress. I have called for the Seamstress to be here after breakfast. Indeed. Roarke replied indulgently as the old woman hovered. He had asked her to keep a close eye on Mademoiselle Aedler, though he would have much preferred to keep his own eyes upon her remarkable features. The unexpected passion between them still burnt upon his lips. He had indeed not meant to fratanise with the enemy however . . . Adelaide Aedler was just too irresistible, especially when he left her fight for words and ruffled her feathers. A grin slowly began to creep up one side of his lips at the recollection. Annette watched her master closely as he sat down at the head of the enormous table grinning to himself as he buttered his toast. He looked tired and ruffled with dark circles starting to form under his eyes from what she imagined was his lack of rest. However, she was well aware he was fully alert as she ventured. I must say my Lord . . . Madam is very . . . unusual. Annette ventured. Oh? How so? His deep voice rumbled with amusement. Though he had to agree with the old woman but he decided to indulge her knowing how she liked to talk. Well . . . It's not really anything she does, though she does have an odd manner about her but it's mostly the things she says . . . very strange for a woman of clearly a high station. That is not to say I do not like Madam. Indeed I very much like Madam Adelaide! Well clearly I like her too very much. That is why I have bought her here no? Roarke replied biting into his bacon as he lounged crookedly in his seat. Clearly not like you like your other woman. Annette replied pointedly to which Roarke bestowed upon the old woman one of his rakish grins. He was starting to think he gave his servant's too much liberty to speak to him freely. His sister was always warning him about that. How he was far to lenient with staff but Lord Wessex found he could always catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Are you going to marry Madam my Lord? Annette could think of no other reason as to why a woman would be in this house and not have shared Lord Wessex's bed. The Marquess responded with an arched brow at the very surprising suggestion. He had thought he'd made it implicitly clear to all that he was never going to marry? Clearly, the servant's thought similar to his sister that eventually he'd be done sowing his wild oats. That would depend upon what you have to tell me. Wessex replied slowly. You are my eyes and ears where I cannot be. There is nothing remarkable about madam's nature or behaviour. I've had the other maid's watch and keep an eye on her. She has not left her room since I put her to bed myself. Annette informed Roarke. He had indeed suspected some suspicious behaviour but . . . none. It was odd . . . Oh but Madam has . . err what do you call it? A-a- design! Inked into her skin on her shoulder, the left one I think. I did not see it clearly but I saw some of it. That is very odd for a woman to bare no my Lord? Oui. Roarke agreed, deep in thought for a long moment. A design . . . a tattoo . . . Maybe Mademoiselle Adelaide was tougher than her slight form made one believe. He'd seen grown men cry getting tattoo's. Hell! He'd drunk a good half a bottle of whiskey before he had the Hades insignia imprinted upon his skin. Well?! The Marquess suddenly roared out of his musings. What are you waiting for? Escort Madamoiselle Aedler here to breakfast. She must be starving. Rapide!