"The shortness of his breath is brought from the quick tapping of his feet and not by the gentle tendrils of her hair that escaped from the lively dance, brushing against the curve of her neck and begging for a lover's touch. And his heart beats as...
love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies
--Aristotle
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Gisele curled her toes against the silk of her bedsheets, eyelids fluttering open in the gentle light of dawn. Her fingers grasped for the cool underside of the pillow, and she clung to fleeting sleep with a content smile. After the proceedings of the past two nights, she was more than ecstatic to be granted a few more moments of sleep, nothing yet impeding her comfort.
"Mademoiselle!Ouvrez the door!"
Gisele's smile faded into a soft sigh, burying her face in the pillows, and trying to ignore the sounds of her handmaiden pounding on the engraved wood that comprised her door. "Just a moment!" She'd locked it and swiped the key the night before, not that the aging woman would notice, in preparation to steal a little more time for herself.
"Gisele!"
"One moment!" She snapped in reply, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness, disappointed her little ruse had already been spoiled. She slid from between the silk sheets, hissing as her feet touched the cold floor, and quickly crossing her chambers to pull open the door.
The aging maid, Helen, seemed to squint in an accusatory way, before pushing past her and into the room, approaching the large dresser her father had commissioned to hold all his daughter's extensive wardrobe. "I don't have the time to wrangle you this morning, Gisele. Your father has guests coming, and I need to make you presentable."
"More suitors?" She guessed dryly, folding her arms and watching the woman mumble dismissively at several inferior dresses. "Another Austrian? It's been a few days since we entertained, I was beginning to worry I'd get a full night of sleep."
The woman was wise enough to hide the rolling of her eyes, busying herself in the bountiful collection of gowns and summer dresses. "No. One of your father's friends, and his son. I don't think either has any intention of courting you, Gisele." She pulled out a blue dress, tight in the bodice, that plumed out into a wide skirt that nearly swept the floor. "Aimez-vous?"
Gisele examined the gown with some scrutiny and a neutral expression, but eventually offered a reluctant nod. Lazily combing through her hair, coaxing the tangles out of the thick black mass. "Why are they visiting then?" Perhaps it was vanity, but after months her father presenting her like a prized mare, her father's sudden change of heart was... dubious, to say the least.
"They are old men, cherie, they like to sit around and talk," Helen shrugged, removing the dress from the hanger with a delicate touch. "As for the boy, I don't like to spread rumors," she loosened the laces of the blue dress, helping the younger woman into the intricate garb, "but I heard that his father took him away from school to keep him from the violence in Paris." Guiding the younger woman's arms through the sleeves, Helen returned her attention to the laces, pulling them taut with expert precision.
Gisele considered the handmaiden's words, a paltry method of distraction from incoming pain. It was perfectly sensible, of course, Paris was a dangerous city for the wealthy. With riots in the streets, a simple necklace could make you a target for the once illustrious city's thugs. She didn't give it further thought, instead bracing herself and grimacing as the maid pulled the corset tighter and tighter. She wasn't wide of frame, or inexperienced in corsets, but until the numbing set in, it was far from pleasant.
Downstairs, Marius de Talhouët was sitting in his study, passing a perpetually empty wine-glass between two perspiring hands. After so many failed courtships, so many missed opportunities, a man like Marius grew nervous. Out of options, he'd turned to a campaign of beggary and deceit-- even folding his daughter's maid in on the act to keep his meddling Gisele unaware. "What if he rejects the offer? Is it worth the humiliation?" He mused, forcing himself to keep his eyes away from the window, from their impending judgement.
Her brother, Alastair, simply lifted a brow. "Gisele is a pretty girl, Papa, and he would be stupid to give up the opportunity to marry into our family," he reasoned carefully, still perplexed by his father's behavior. Whatever the political climate, there were always more matches, non? "And if you're firm with her, Gisele will accept the match too. The boy isn't monstrous, is he?"
He shook his head. "I met him once, many years ago, but he was barely an adolescent then," he hoped that this was not one of the occasions where his memory failed him. "His father is a good man. He wouldn't lie to me," his reassurance was more for his own sake than his son's. Alastair had always been so easy to manage. First to marry, first to have a child, his perfect firstborn. "They will be a good pair."
Alastair raised his small glass in mock celebration, with a mirrored look of tentative relief beginning to flood his features. "To the union, then."
